


Psi Delta Alpha Boys: Kappa Sigma

by thejigsawtimess



Series: Psi Delta Alpha Boys Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Anal Sex, Bongs, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Oral Sex, Strip Tease, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 121,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4286637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejigsawtimess/pseuds/thejigsawtimess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three incredible, butterfly-inducing months have passed and things are going well for Dean and Cas. Almost too well, Cas can't help but think sometimes. Sam, Dean's younger brother is coming to stay at the Frat for a while, to get a feel of what it will be like when he pledges Psi Delta Alpha next year. </p><p>Cas likes Sam, but he notices some troubling things upon his arrival. Gabriel for one, is behaving strangely around the soon to be Freshman, and while Dean is pleased to have Sam around, he seems pretty distracted. </p><p>Then of course there's Kappa Sigma, the biggest rival Fraternity for Cas to keep an eye on, because nobody else seems to be paying them any mind. Why does he seem to be the only one worried about the threats they're making? And even worse, why is Cas the only one concerned about how often Sam is round at their Frat house? </p><p>Nobody seems to get how bad things are really going to become if they don't do something drastic. And Cas is the only one who can see it. He guesses it's up to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Here it is, the second instalment of Psi Delta Alpha Boys as promised! I've got lots of ideas and hopefully lots of time on my hands, so here goes! I hope you all like the introduction of Sam as a character (coming soon) as well as some interesting events and changes as the story continues. 
> 
> I can't wait to hear what you all think of this first chapter, though really this was sort of just an excuse to write more Dean/Cas porn. Haha, enjoy it anyway! 
> 
> Welcome to Psi Delta Alpha Boys: Kappa Sigma. 
> 
> xxx

“Okay, next question.” Castiel says, smiling a little. “What are ‘histones’?”

 

“Uh…” Dean’s eyes glaze. Castiel stares at his furrowed brow fondly. Even with that dopey, confused little frown on his face, Dean Winchester is still effortlessly flawless. “Hold on, I know this… oh, right! They’re like, little proteins right? Proteins in the nucleus thingy. I’m totally right, aren’t I?”

 

Castiel smiles wider. “Yes.”

 

Dean fist punches the air, grinning at his own achievement. “Fuck yeah. Smart _and_ sexy, how do you resist me?”

 

Castiel laughs, and he has to look away from Dean’s killer smile. He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, blushing lightly. “Most of the time I don’t.”

 

Dean smirks then, scooting closer, sliding his wheelie chair forwards so that his and Cas’s knees are touching. He reaches out and tilts Cas’s chin up with the tip of his finger, forcing their eyes to meet.

 

“Speaking of…” Dean practically whispers, his eyes all hooded and seductive, a suggestion in his voice that he must know Cas can’t possibly hope to resist. Cas just sucks in a quiet breath, willing his heart to keep pumping as Dean inches closer.

 

Like clockwork, so predictable, Cas leans into him, willingly, happily, a force far greater than he can control urging him forwards until he’s pushing his mouth against Dean’s. The world falls away around him, just as it does every time he falls into the plush, warm, dizzying heights of Dean’s lips; Dean’s textbook slides to the floor.

 

Dean smiles a tiny bit, Cas can feel it, proud of his ability to distract Cas so easily from their study session. Cas whimpers slightly against it, a meek protest because he knows this is bad, that he and Dean are meant to be studying now, but it’s just so impossible to resist-

 

No, he thinks, and his mind snarls at him in hatred for the thought. He can’t fall for this again, one of them has to be a little bit responsible. With a frustrated groan, Cas draws upon his apparently superhuman ability to overcome his own desires in favour of Dean’s wellbeing, and pulls back from the kiss, panting just a little, no doubt sporting a look of serious yearning as he leans back in his chair.

 

“Dean.” Cas scolds as best he can, though he knows his voice has no force behind it.

 

Dean just sighs, grinning at him as he too leans back. “What?”

 

His voice is the picture of innocence, the asshole. As if he isn’t well aware of his own actions.

 

“I know what you’re doing.” Cas says, folding his arms defiantly, even as Dean meets his gaze with a raised eyebrow and a casual smoulder. Cas tries to hide his answering shudder. He won’t give in this time. He _won’t._ “These study sessions are virtually pointless if we just end up having sex ten minutes in every time.”

 

Dean continues to grin, undeterred. “I wouldn’t say they were pointless…”

 

Cas rolls his eyes, ignoring the familiar thrill that courses through him upon hearing Dean describe their activities with such positivity.

 

“We have to talk about science, Dean. I’m your tutor after all. As much as I’d love to…” Castiel forces himself to trail off; finishing that sentence could be the end of his tether. “We can’t. Later we can. But not now.”

 

Dean groans, a noise that definitely doesn’t go straight to Castiel’s dick, and the older boy's smile falls as he rubs his eyes with frustration. “Fine. You’re lucky you’re so damn cute.”

 

Cas is certainly lucky for many things, he thinks, still awestruck that Dean ever finds it difficult to control himself around Cas. He’s still no better – these ‘study sessions’ are a testament to that. They decided to try it out because it seemed like killing two birds with one stone – they’d both test each other on Science-y stuff, and they’d get to spend time together. A win-win situation.

 

The problem is that they’ve been having a couple of study sessions a week for around a month now and it works great… for about two questions each. At that point, the sexual tension in the room is practically palpable – particularly on Cas’s part he can't help but think – and every single time they’ve ended up with their hands in each others hair, their mouths on each other’s bodies and more often than not, rutting against each other on the nearest surface available.

 

It’s not that Cas is complaining – far from it. He’s just getting a little concerned. Dean’s grades are pretty good now, he’s maintaining a steady B/C average that baffles and infuriates Crowley and Cas knows it’s in no small part due to him, which makes him preen with pride.

 

But Dean’s got to keep it up or he could be in serious trouble. Castiel has heard of students not being allowed to play for the college team anymore because their grades are too low. That would kill Dean.

 

So Cas has to keep him on the straight and narrow however he can. If that means he has to go without stupidly hot, unrestrained desk-sex every once in a while, so be it.

 

“It’s just so freakin’ boring.” Dean says, startling Cas out of his inner thoughts. “And then you’re sittin’ there lookin’ every bit as fuckable as you always do and…” Dean runs his eyes shamelessly over Cas’s body; Cas’s breathing immediately picks up speed. “I get distracted, y’know?”

 

Cas does know. He’s still convinced he has it worse than Dean, the whole attraction thing. Dean is attracted to him, Castiel accepts that, but it’s just different surely.  Dean can't possibly have the same league of violent reactions to Cas's presence as Cas has to Dean. After all, Cas knows he's nothing particularly special. Not compared to Dean anyway. 

 

Every time Cas even looks at Dean, he feels like he’s had the air punched out of his lungs. He still remembers the first time he ever saw the guy, the way he strolled out of that classroom in his scarlet Letterman, his teeth flashing as he grinned, green eyes sparkling, the air around him practically shimmering as it brushed against his golden skin.

 

That Cas gets to touch that magnificence daily, whenever he wants, is the stuff of dreams. Maybe one day he’ll wake up tangled in his sheets, drenched in sweat and other fluids, and Dean will be just a figment of his own fevered, pubescent imagination.

 

Dean is staring at him, Cas realises, and there’s an amused glint in his eye. Shit, Cas thinks, blushing slightly and averting his gaze, well no wonder, he’s been staring at Dean for what’s probably around a minute now. He’s practically drooling.

 

“Sorry,” Cas says, clearing his throat.

 

“Stare away, gorgeous.” Dean replies, his voice having dropped around an octave because the bastard knows it turns him on.

 

Cas practically growls in frustration. How did he think these study sessions were ever going to work? In theory they’re a fantastic idea, but he failed to take into account the fact that he can’t be in a room with Dean without being reduced to a quivering, submissive mess, ready to jump on Dean at his word.

 

“Okay, look,” Cas says, purposefully not looking at Dean right now, and he knows he’s clutching at straws here but this is literally all he can think of, “sometimes if I’ve been studying for a long time and I want to stop, I give myself a… reward system for every question I get right.”

 

Dean seems to visibly perk up at this, and it alarms Castiel; he studies Dean’s expression, warily. “Interesting. What did you have in mind?”

 

Castiel shrugs, leaning down and retrieving Dean’s textbook from the floor. “I give myself ten minutes of reading time, chocolate, a nap – that kind of thing.”

 

Dean laughs. “God, you think those are _rewards_? Cas, dude, you need some better treats, man.” Cas huffs a laugh as well, though he doesn’t really get it. That’s what he likes doing – those things are rewards in his mind. He glances up at Dean, his stomach somersaulting as he notes the predatory glint in those two green eyes. “I’ve got a better idea.”

 

* * *

 

 

Cas doesn’t know how it happened really. One minute he’s suggesting a tried and tested study method with heaps of evidence in students’ reviews online, and the next he’s shirtless, Dean has his foot in one hand and is systematically pulling off both of his socks.

 

“Hey, _one_ sock, c’mon no cheating.” Castiel cries, a little breathlessly, attempting to pull his socked foot out of Dean’s grasp.

 

“What?” Dean asks, incredulous. “Socks come in pairs! They count as one item of clothing.”

 

Castiel just huffs. There’s no point in arguing about this. Dean will inevitably win. Eventually Dean pulls both socks off and hurls them into the corner of Cas’s room.

 

“You’re picking those up later.” Castiel grumbles, and then shrieks as Dean tickles the underside of his left foot.

 

“Stop bein’ so grumpy.” Dean replies, grinning over at him and releasing his feet. “It’s your turn anyway.”

 

Cas swallows. Right. His turn. Yes, this is a fantastic idea, he tells himself sarcastically, turning what was already a practically unbearably sexually charged study session into what is essentially a game of strip poker. Minus the poker.

 

This will help them to stave off the urges clouding their minds and preventing them from focusing on science. Cas rolls his eyes at himself.

 

Dean swivels on his chair, smirking wickedly, leaning over the open Physics textbook on the desk. He makes some exaggerated ‘hmmmm’ noises, thumbing through the pages with a theatricality that makes Cas’s eyes roll again.

 

“Alright, here we go.” Dean says, and by the expression on his face, Cas is ninety-five percent sure he’s going to immediately know the answer to whatever comes out of Dean’s mouth. “Castiel, your question for one million dollars - what is meant by the term ‘escape speed’?”

 

Castiel raises his eyebrows at Dean, trying to appear calm and casual when his insides are screaming at him for not immediately answering that _blatantly obvious_ question so that Dean will remove his clothing.

 

“Do I really get a million dollars if I get this right?” Castiel asks, hoping his voice doesn’t betray the tumult raging inside him.

 

Dean grins. “A million dollars wouldn’t buy you the sight you’ll receive if you get this answer, Cas.”

 

“You wouldn’t remove your shirt for a _million dollars_?”

 

“Just answer, smartass!”

 

Castiel sighs, seeing no other option. “The speed at which the sum of an object’s kinetic energy and gravitational potential energy is equal to zero.”

 

“Ding, ding ding!” Dean cries, grinning away. “We have a winner.”

 

The removal of the shirt is far worse to watch than Castiel anticipated. He grips the edge of the seat he borrowed from the communal kitchen, the rough, corrugated plastic digging into his palm. Dean is slow about it, maintaining eye contact for as long as possible, really dragging this out.

 

There’s just nowhere else to look once Dean’s abs are out in the open, carved, perfect and waiting. Dean’s jeans are low around his hips today, the waistband of his underwear visible above them. His stomach muscles are taut and defined, jutting over his hipbones, creating a perfect ‘V’ that points down, leading Castiel’s gaze.

 

He’s helpless to stare. He’s never been able to stop himself, and this… this is just torture. Cas is sitting there shirtless too, but he’s pretty sure it’s nothing in comparison to having to stare at this before him.

 

“You okay there, angel?” Dean asks, and Castiel breaks out of his reverie slightly, managing to force his eyes up to meet Dean’s. “It’s okay if you wanna stop y’know… if you wanna keep me after class…”

 

Dean reaches forward then, his face all faux-concern and wide, innocent-seeming eyes. His hand lands on Cas’s knee, the heat seeping through the fabric of Cas's pants, making him shiver. Bullshit, this is manipulation, damn it! Cas pushes his hand away.

 

“I’m fine, thanks.” He says firmly, trying to convince himself more than anything. “Your turn, right?” Castiel turns his attention back to the book in his hands. His eyes swivel over the page, unable to focus over the sound of his pounding heart. He picks a question at random. “Alright, name two ways that bacteria undergo genetic recombination.”

 

Dean smiles too confidently, and Castiel knows he is doomed. “C’mon, gimme a hard one, teach.” Dean winks, and Castiel tries not to hear the double entendre, but fails. “In meiosis, there’s the pairing of… wait for it… _homologous_ chromosomes.”

 

Castiel nods, smirking a little over Dean’s proud face when he pronounces the word correctly. How can he be adorable and like, smoking hot at the exact same time? That’s not fair.

 

“That’s one way, yes. I asked for two.”

 

“Simmer down, I’m gettin’ to it.” Dean says jokingly, closing his eyes as he tries to remember. Castiel watches, suddenly finding it hard to breathe, as Dean’s teeth capture his own lower lip, worrying it as he thinks. Castiel can feel the arousal sparking restlessly within him at the sight of Dean like this, shirtless, eyes screwed shut, biting his plump, peach lip…

 

He coughs, loud enough to make Dean’s eyes snap open. Dean looks confused, then grins, probably because Castiel is blushing hard.

 

“I got it.” Dean says, still amused.

 

“Get on with it then.” Castiel snaps, and Dean just laughs.

 

“In _mitosis,_ there are two ‘non-sister’- is that right? That sounds wrong, am I making that up? Sisters?” Dean is asking him, Cas realises, and he shakes himself out of the daydream he was definitely not having about the various massage oils, creams and butters he could potentially smooth over Dean’s chest.

 

“No, that’s right.” Castiel answers hurriedly, raking a hand through his hair. “Non-sister homologous chromosomes.”

 

Dean smiles, proud of himself yet again, and Cas smiles back, proud of him too. “Right, yeah. They pair up." Dean points at him, hammering his point home. " _Recombination_.”

 

Castiel nods his assent, and sighs, head lolling back. “What would you like me to remove next, Dean?”

 

“I get to choose?!” Dean asks excitedly, and Castiel barks a laugh at his expression when he sits back up. “Umm, pants? Yeah, pants definitely. And go slow.”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes at the latter request, choosing to ignore it for the sake of his own sanity. He removes his pants as efficiently and unprovocatively as he can manage, Dean chuckling every time his fingers fumble. So unfair. Dean can handle this kind of thing, he’s had practice at keeping his libido under wraps for extended periods of time, but when it comes to Dean, Castiel just _can’t._

 

When he sits back down in the chair, the backs of his thighs stick to the plastic. His underwear doesn’t leave much to the imagination, he’s aware. It’s his blue pair, his boxer briefs. They’re tight, elastic, and well… to put it bluntly, you can clearly see the outline of his dick. And yeah, he’s already half-hard – to be honest, there isn’t really a time he isn’t at least semi-aroused around Dean.

 

When Cas looks up again, a little embarrassed and slightly hot from all the attention focused on him, he meets Dean’s hungry gaze and it creeps right under his skin.

 

“M-my turn?” Cas asks, his voice quiet. A muscle in Dean’s jaw twitches, but he turns to the book again.

 

“What type of ‘spacetime’ interval describes the interval that exists between to events that don’t affect each other?” Dean asks, his voice low, as though he’s struggling to hold it together.

 

Cas doesn’t even have to think about the answer. He’s read that chapter about thirty times. “Space-like interval.”

 

“Yup.” Dean says, swivelling to face him and then standing up. Cas isn’t ready, he’s not prepared for it when Dean starts unbuttoning his jeans, pushes them over the handlebars of his hips until they’re a puddle of denim at his feet. “My turn.”

 

Castiel is fumbling with the pages by this point, he actually rips one slightly in his frenzy. How the Hell can he hope to concentrate right now? He’s unable to pick a question for several minutes because his eyes won’t behave themselves, won’t stay away from the bared legs before him, from Dean’s short black boxers, from everything he knows is underneath them. Thankfully Dean sits back in his chair, though it does nothing to help Castiel gain any control.

 

Eventually, Cas picks a question at random. “Explain blue/white colony selection.”

 

When Cas looks up, Dean’s face is distracted, clearly not thinking of the techniques involved in cloning. His eyes gleam chartreuse as they rove up and down the curves and points of Cas’s body, his fingers twitching against his thigh, as though aching to reach out and claim.

 

Dean looks up at him eventually. “I don’t know.”

 

Cas looks at him despairingly. “You must.”

 

He’s saying it partly because they went over this a few days ago, together, with Cas explaining where he could as Dean whispered filth into his ear and slid a hand up his shirt. But mostly he’s saying it because he _needs_ Dean to answer, so he can remove the final piece of clothing, so they can finally stop this agonising game of build up and just lose themselves in each other.

 

“I don’t Cas, I’m sorry.” Dean says, and from the look of pained frustration in Dean’s eyes, Cas knows he means it. “So no striptease for me, it’s your turn.”

 

Cas nods enthusiastically; he can still win this. If Dean takes off his underwear, the game also ends. He just has to get the next question right and-

 

But wait, where is his head right now? Isn’t the whole point of the no-sex-during-study-sessions rule he introduced so that Dean could be educated?

 

He can’t allow himself to win. That defeats the purpose. Dean has to win, has to answer enough questions correctly to get Cas’s pants off, otherwise Cas can say that his own sexual needs outweigh the needs of his student, and that's just uncool. It’s still weird thinking of Dean as his student, but whatever.

 

Dean is looking through the Physics book again and Cas has made up his mind. He has to get this answer wrong. He almost wants to cry.

 

“Explain one method of convective heat transfer.” Dean says, and when he looks up at Cas, his eyes are filled with a heat of their own.

 

Castiel wants to scream. He learnt about this in fucking _highschool._ Does Dean know how easy this question is? Is that why he asked it? Cas definitely wouldn’t put it past Dean to play dirty like that.

 

Silently, Cas lists all the methods of convective heat transfer he knows.

 

_Buoyancy, water pumps, thermal expansion, natural convection…_

“I-I don’t know.” Castiel states. His eyes don’t meet Dean’s, though he hears Dean’s exasperated responding noise.

 

“What?” Dean asks. “Cas, c’mon man, you gotta. I’m dyin’ here.”

 

Cas’s eyes flick up to Dean’s. God, it’s actually painful to lie about this when the truth could get him… well. Dean.

 

“Sorry, Dean.”

 

Dean’s head falls between his shoulders and he groans. “Alright, my turn.”

 

Castiel nods. Right. He has to find a question for Dean. He turns to Dean’s textbook.

 

“Cas, darlin’,” Dean interrupts him, and Cas can tell at once from the tone of his voice that whatever he’s about to say is going to make things a thousand times worse, “I know you’re real set on this science thing- and that’s cute as all Hell, but if you wanted to just… forget it for now… come on over here and crawl into my lap like I know you want to… I’d make it worth your while, I promise.”

 

Cas starts at the feel of Dean’s fingers against his bared thigh – when did he wheel closer? Cas resolutely doesn’t look up, though by this point he feels like he’s on fire. It’s agony not to do as Dean said, and he’ll probably pay for it later, but he has to do this. He has a responsibility to Dean, and the guy just has _one more question_ …

 

Dean’s fingers start to make a gradual ascent towards Cas’s crotch, so Cas does the only thing he can. He closes his eyes, points at a random place on the textbook page, and then opens them.

 

“True or false!” Cas cries, and Dean’s fingers stop, mercifully. Dean sighs, leaning away, and Cas can sense the frustration rolling off him in waves. “T-true or false…” Cas repeats, still not daring to look up for fear he wouldn’t be able to control himself. “Photorespiration is a process by which mitochondrial respiration speeds up to keep pace with the supply of reduced carbon during photosynthesis.”

 

For around thirty seconds, the only reply Cas gets is silence. He forces his gaze away from the page at that point, heart beating furiously for fear of what expression he might find on Dean’s face – anger? Betrayal? More frustration?

 

When he finally manages to force his own eyes to meet Dean’s, he finds a look of smugness there. Except it’s hidden – buried under layers of that animalistic, predatory lust Dean seems to reserve only for him.

 

“Take ‘em off, Cas.” Is all Dean says, and Castiel gulps, hands gripping the chair again.

 

“T-true or false?”

 

Dean huffs a laugh, but it sounds a little cruel. He stands, suddenly, without warning, and Castiel’s heart jumps into his throat. Dean closes the distance between them in one stride, leaning down and prising Cas’s legs apart, crouching in between them as his eyes drag up to Cas’s again.

 

“Photorespiration…” Dean breathes as he fits himself more comfortably between Cas’s thighs, his hands coming up to trail over Cas’s waist. Cas just whimpers, shifting and squirming as Dean’s fingers dance over his bared skin. “…is a process…” Dean continues, and Cas almost laughs when he realises what’s happening. Dean’s answering the question, still. Dean’s lips brush very softly over the outline of his cock, and all thoughts of laughter fly out of his brain. Instead, he just gasps, still gripping the chair. “…in plant metabolism that reduces…” Dean’s hands grip Cas’s waist suddenly, making him gasp, and then he presses his tongue to the front of Cas’s underwear, tracing carefully over the hard line of Castiel’s erection; all Cas can do is cry out at the feel of it, and try, _try_ to focus on whether what Dean is saying is correct.

 

Dean pulls away slightly, eyes flicking to Cas’s, lidded and heavy. He continues talking as though nothing has happened. “…the waste materials from the oxygenation process…” Dean’s hands start to slide down then, over Cas’s hipbones, thumbs teasing at the waistband of his underwear, and then further down until they’re resting firmly on Cas’s thighs. “…by adding a particular enzyme to the process.”

 

Castiel means to say yes, well done, congratulations, now fuck me roughly on my bed, but instead all that comes out of his mouth is a small whimper.

 

“I’m takin’ that to mean I passed, Mr Novak?” Dean asks, still on his goddamned knees, and Castiel just nods vigorously.

 

Dean shoots him a wicked grin, hands moving quickly to the back of Cas’s knees and pulling him forwards on the chair.

 

“Wait, wait!” Castiel cries, thinking of something suddenly. “True or false?”

 

Dean actually growls at this question, standing up and scooping Cas out of the chair like he were nothing more than a football. Cas complies eagerly of course, wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist, threading arms around his neck, diving in for a kiss.

 

Dean bites at his lips, clearly frustrated about being frustrated, and Cas wants to laugh about it, but he’s too turned on for that. Instead he just loses himself in the feeling of Dean surrounding him, fucking _carrying_ him, and kissing him within an inch of his life.

 

After a few moments, Cas feels a sudden drop, and yelps because of it. When he orients himself, he realises Dean has sat back down on his wheelie chair, and Cas is now gathered in his lap. Just like Dean wanted, Castiel notes with an internal smirk.

 

He stares down into Dean’s eyes, swallowing as he sees the unrestrained lust gathered there. What is Dean thinking right now?

 

“False.” Dean says suddenly, and Castiel is reminded of the question he keeps pestering Dean with.

 

That’s the right answer alright. Castiel nods slowly.

 

“Sh-shall I take off my underwear?”

 

“I got my question right, didn’t I?”

 

Castiel nods again, feeling incredibly nervous and not knowing quite why. It’s often like this with Dean, a sense of uncertainty and delicious anticipation hovering over them as Castiel tries to work out what Dean is thinking. Castiel sometimes wonders if Dean makes it up as he goes along, if he just gets inspired randomly regarding what he asks Castiel to do in these situations, but in reality, Castiel suspects not. More likely, Dean has things he wants too. Secret, perhaps hidden desires that he keeps stored away in his mind until he gets the chance to unleash them on Castiel.

 

That’s definitely how Cas would go about this dominating thing if he were the one in Dean’s shoes.

 

Castiel removes the underwear awkwardly, not wanting to get off of Dean because Dean hasn’t said he could, and that’s important. Dean might not always say exactly what Castiel can and can’t do, but Castiel knows Dean well enough now to be aware that even the older boy’s actions are demonstrations of his wants.

 

Dean wants Cas on his lap right now. So Castiel just has to make that work. He grimaces a little against the cool, damp patch at the front of his boxer briefs sliding over his erection as he pulls them off. He steadies himself with a hand on Dean’s shoulder as he pushes the material down his thighs, wobbling a little before he manages to get them all the way off.

 

It definitely isn’t a graceful, sexy strip, but Dean looks satisfied nonetheless. Castiel feels Dean’s hands smooth over his chest and his eyes flutter.

 

“You look real good today, Cas.” Dean murmurs, bright green eyes flicking over every inch of bared skin on Cas’s body. “Such a shame that you’ve been so…”

 

Castiel freezes, eyes widening in alarm. So what? Oh no, he’s done something wrong. Dean notices as Cas catches on, wetting his lips with a flash of pink tongue as he leans in to whisper in Cas’s ear.

 

“Bad.”

 

Castiel whimpers.

 

“I know you knew the answer to that question, Cas.” Dean is saying, still whispering the words, his breaths ghosting over Cas’s ear. “Lied about that, didn’t you?” Shit, Cas thinks, how does Dean _know_ this stuff? “Y’know what happens to pretty little liars, Cas?”

 

Castiel can barely hear Dean over the cacophony of his own heart, the blood pumping in his ears, the sound of his own frantic breaths. He doesn’t answer; he’s not sure he can.

 

He feels Dean’s mouth pressing against the spot just below his earlobe, feels teeth scraping gently against his neck, then hard, feels Dean biting down, sucking a mark that’s definitely going to leave a bruise.

 

“Ah!” Castiel cries out at the shock of it, hands flying up to clutch at Dean’s shoulders.

 

His dick throbs with want, begging to be touched, but he doesn’t dare, not yet.

 

Dean immediately pulls back, mouth shiny with saliva, a gleam in his eye that betrays his enjoyment. “Uh uh.” Dean grabs hold of Cas’s wrists, moving them away from his shoulders, pinning them to Cas’s sides. “Bad little liars don’t get to touch, Cas. They just get to do what I say, alright?”

 

Oh, fuck. Okay, Cas thinks, this has got to be it then hasn’t it, this is going to be the time he dies from overstimulation combined with desperation, frustration and every other “ation” there is. Goodbye, cruel world. At least he’s going out in the best way he can possibly think of.

 

He nods, showing he’s understood Dean.

 

“You nod like you get it,” Dean says then, and out of nowhere, Dean’s hand is on Cas’s dick, warm and firm, moving ever so slightly, punching the air right out of his lungs, “but do you really? No touchin’ allowed, baby.”

 

Yep, Cas can see what Dean is getting at here. His every instinct is telling him to grab something, for that something to be the acres of almost-naked Dean right fucking in front of him, but instead his hands curl into fists, hug his chest in frustration.

 

When he meets Dean’s eyes, he sees the older boy smirking, triumphant.

 

“Good, angel.” Dean purrs, and Cas can’t help it, he practically melts under the compliment. “Think you can keep this up, huh?”

 

It takes Castiel a moment to realise Dean is actually asking him; he’s a little distracted by the soft, almost-handjob he’s receiving, along with the no-touching thing of course.

 

“Think you can keep it up if I get my mouth on you, huh?” Dean asks, as nonchalant as though he were asking about ‘escape speed’ again.

 

Castiel lets out a little moan at the very idea, pressing his lips together with the effort of keeping his fingers from threading themselves into Dean’s hair.

 

Dean grins at his reaction, his grip getting a little firmer around Castiel’s cock, his movements increasing in speed.

 

“What about if I got my fingers inside you, huh?” Dean asks, seeming to demonstrate by dropping his hand lower, slipping past Cas’s balls to brush over his entrance just once. Castiel jerks forwards as he feels it, moaning again, not trusting himself to make a sensible verbal response. “Or how about if I fucked you, right here, like this? Think you could still keep your hands off me?”

 

Dean’s hands move to Cas’s hips then, yanking him forwards so his ass is directly atop Dean’s crotch. With a wicked grin that Cas kind of wants to punch him for, Dean thrusts upwards once, showing Cas just what that would be like.

 

Cas just makes a broken sound, dropping his head almost to Dean’s shoulder. “Please, Dean. I need to touch you.”

 

Dean tuts at him, hands stroking lightly over Cas’s waist once more. “This is what you get for not studying properly, Cas. How are you ever gonna learn if you go around answerin’ all the questions wrong on purpose?”

 

“It was for you, Dean, I swear.” Castiel tries pleading, and Dean grins wider.

 

“Someone’s gotta teach you this lesson, Cas.” Dean says, putting on a faux-serious face. “Who else is gonna do it? Crowley?”

 

Castiel makes a disgusted face at that. Wow, imagining Crowley in this position? Literally almost a boner killer. Dean is lucky Castiel is so crazily into him, really.

 

“I won’t do it again, Dean, I swear.” Castiel says after a moment, and Dean sighs.

 

“Well… maybe if you answer one more question... I’ll consider ending your punishment early.” Dean says, another flash of that wicked gleam in his eyes.

 

Castiel doesn’t care, he nods eagerly, clasping his hands together behind his back because he still doesn’t trust himself. Dean grins at him, winking, and then before Cas knows it, Dean is wheeling them diagonally. The only thing that stops Cas from toppling off of Dean’s lap is the older boy’s arm suddenly snaking around his waist. Damn, that boy is strong. It makes Cas’s mouth water just a little.

 

By the time Cas has calmed himself down from the panic of almost falling off the chair, hitting his head on the desk and having a naked concussion that Gabriel would never let him live down- he realises what Dean is doing.

 

The other boy’s arm is buried deep in Castiel’s bedside drawer, rummaging for something, and Castiel’s heart starts pounding.

 

Dean draws out the bottle with ease, a lazy smirk on his lips because he’s in perfect control here, he’s got Cas into a stuttering mess already, and he damn well knows it.

 

“Okay then. Here are the rules, angel.” Dean says, his voice dropping to that sultry tone that almost sends Cas into anaphylactic shock every fucking time. “New category. Not Physics this time. I’m gonna choose somethin’ more… appropriate.”

 

Sexual, then, Cas deduces. The questions will be squirm-inducingly, decidedly _inappropriately_ sexual. He sighs. Yeah, he’s gonna die.

 

“Oh,” Dean pipes up, popping the cap of the lube he’s holding open, “and I’m gonna be fingering you. Sound cool?”

 

Flatline.

 

* * *

 

 

When Castiel’s conscious mind reorientates itself, he’s got one hand fisted in his hair, one between his teeth, his eyes are screwed shut, and Dean has two fingers inside of him.

 

“That’s it baby, rock down onto me,” Dean is saying, and Castiel’s answering noises are practically yelps, muffled by his own fist, “you like that?”

 

Castiel’s hips are moving of their own accord, small concentric circles, trying to push Dean’s fingers deeper, further. He makes a muted sort of affirmative response, hoping it’s enough to please Dean. God, he needs to touch him. He needs it more than _air._

“Ready for your first question, baby?” Dean asks, and Cas just nods, removing his fist from his mouth and placing his hand flat on his own chest instead. “Stop movin’ then. Good.” It takes all of Castiel’s willpower to cease rocking his hips, but he manages somehow. “Alright, tell me, when was the first time I did this, huh?”

 

Castiel bites his lip a little, studying Dean’s face. That’s his question? Well, that’s not hard, surely, it was back when-

 

“Oh!” Castiel cries out, because Dean’s arm is still wrapped tight around his waist, and the two fingers inside of him have crooked just so, brushing over his prostate.

 

It takes every inch of Castiel’s being not to grab hold of Dean as soon as it happens. He feels the undulations of that spark Dean set off all the way in his toes. His fingernails dig into his own chest, and he squeezes a chunk of his hair.

 

Right, concentrate. When did Dean first do this to him? When did he first feel Dean’s fingers inside of him-

 

“Ah! _Fuck!”_ Castiel cries out, a little louder this time. Dean has done it again, sweeping the pads of his fingers every so lightly against that spot, drawing them in and out again, fucking him gently, not enough. “Unngh.”

 

Castiel groans a little, frustrated at his own brain for not being able to function properly under this kind of intensity. Focus. Okay, he remembers it, he does, Dean leaned over him, some kind of tingling-

 

“Fuck, fuck fuck!” Castiel shouts as Dean adds another finger, starting to speed up now. Both hands are in Cas’s hair now; he’s practically sobbing with the effort of not touching the gloriousness before him.

 

Come on, he thinks, he’s so close to remembering- oh, right, the tingling! Yes, the honey lube! Yes, that was the first time they used it, wasn’t it-

 

“You look real pretty like this, Cas.” Dean intones, and Cas almost begs him to stay silent. It’s hard enough as it is, but with Dean’s voice on top of everything… there’s no way he’s going to be able to think clearly. “All tense, wantin’ me so bad…”

 

Cas’s eyes flutter open, staring into Dean’s, his body going almost limp as Dean pulls him in closer, starts thrusting his fingers in with more vigour.

 

“You do, don’t you, angel?” Dean asks, grinning at Cas, their faces close now, practically kissing. “How bad d’you wanna touch me, Cas?”

 

“So bad…. Fuck” Cas breathes, surprised at how wrecked he sounds by this point. He can tell he won’t come from this. Dean is being too teasing, purposefully not hitting his prostate every time, just brushing against it, edging Castiel closer to insanity.

 

“So tell me the answer then, Cas.” Dean practically whispers. “Tell me and you can put those pretty little hands wherever you want,” Dean leans really close then, lips brushing against Cas’s ear. “Don’t you wanna have somethin’ to hold on to when I fuck you, huh?”

 

Castiel shudders, almost violently, practically drooling at that mental image. God yes he wants that, wants to cling to Dean when that happens, if that happens – but he has to answer this stupid fucking question. Why is this so _hard?!_

 

He closes his eyes again, really trying to concentrate, trying hard to block out the sensation of Dean’s fingers shoving into him over and over, of Dean’s mouth against his throat, of Dean’s other hand around his waist-

 

He’s got it! He remembers. Fuck, of course he remembers. It was right here, in this fucking room.

 

“Dean!” Castiel cries, elated with himself. “I remember, I remember. You first did this to me- ah, fuck!” Dean crooks his fingers cruelly, sparks shooting through Cas’s body, interrupting him. He ploughs on regardless. “It was there! On my bed, after Luke Skywalker, a-and honey lube and r-r-red vines- fuck!”

 

Dean’s really going for it now, trying to stop Cas from uttering the last of that sentence, but Cas manages somehow, and Dean grins at him, proud. Cas is amused to find he earns a kiss for his trouble.

 

“Smart and sexy.” Dean says, still smiling. “I can never resist that.” He winks. “Touch away, gorgeous.”

 

Castiel practically falls on Dean in relief, sagging into him until every part of them is touching. He buries his face in Dean’s neck, mouthing at the ever so slightly stubbled skin, he runs his hands over Dean’s chest, over the wide expanse of his shoulders, up into the short bristles of his hair.

 

He hears Dean make a few satisfied ‘hmm’ sounds as he explores, and he immediately decides this is not good enough, that he needs more sounds, needs Dean to be moaning and crying out, so he grinds down on Dean’s dick, forgetting that Dean’s fingers are still inside of him.

 

“Christ,” Dean spits out, at the same time as Cas chokes out a stuttered moan at the accidental sensation. “Okay, that’s it, you ready, Cas? I am so ready.”

 

“Yes. Fuck, yes.” Castiel gasps out, leaning away from Dean as he pulls out his fingers, and then clambering off him briefly while he removes his underwear.

 

The sight of Dean’s cock, hard, glistening and flushed with desire for him is something Cas has yet to grow used to. He moans at the sight of it, falling to his knees out of habit, wanting to taste, but Dean is apparently having none of it, hooking two hands under Cas’s armpits and hauling him back into position on Dean’s lap.

 

Cas shifts himself accordingly, so eager and happy now that he can feel Dean under his fingers, now that he can smash his lips to Dean’s at every moment he chooses to. He feels Dean’s cock fit snugly between his cheeks and gasps out, dragging Dean forward by the neck for a kiss.

 

Dean breaks it, chuckling a little at Cas’s slightly manic behaviour, and starts to manhandle Cas into position. Cas is way ahead of him, kneeling up and shifting himself properly, using Dean’s shoulders again to balance him.

 

They’re both breathing heavily, desperate to just get on with this, but Dean makes them wait for a moment, retrieving the lube bottle and slathering some more on his cock before continuing. It’s not the tingly stuff this time, they ran out of that pretty quickly, though Dean keeps saying he’ll get more.

 

“What are you waitin’ for, angel?” Dean asks, and Cas realises he’s the one holding things up now. That won’t do. He lowers himself probably faster than he should, unable to make himself go slow, he’s too worked up for that. He’s used to the feel of Dean by now, to the familiar stretch and shape, but somehow it never quite prepares him.

 

He sinks down easily, what with Dean having prepped him for so long, and shudders several times as Dean pushes against his internal muscles, fitting inside of him, filling him completely.

 

“Fuck, baby,” Dean is whispering, and when Cas looks at him, his neck is damp with sweat. “That feels so fuckin’ good.”

 

That’s what gets to him more than anything - Dean looking this _wrecked,_ just from this. Cas feels the impending wave of an orgasm just looking at Dean’s face, at hearing the words on Dean’s lips, so he thinks of everything gross that he can, trying so hard not to lose it now, because this is amazing.

 

It works, barely, mostly by thinking of all the many, many times Gabriel has mooned him, but regardless.

 

Castiel wants to make Dean scream, he decides, because it’s rare that he has any control over this really, and it just so happens that he’s the one that’s got to do the moving here. He clenches around Dean experimentally, hearing the responding groan resounding in his dick, and doing it again, just for the noise it pulls out of Dean.

 

“Fuck, baby, please,” Dean is saying, and wow- he hardly ever does the begging, this is pretty amazing. “Please move.”

 

So Cas does, bringing his hips up slowly, moving himself up and down over Dean’s shaft, the incredible friction so intense, so prominent in Dean’s expression, that Cas almost forgets about himself entirely. He changes the angle after a while, finding how to hit his prostate and crying out at the sensation.

 

After that, he decides going slow is just not an option anymore. Dean’s eyes burn into his, his mouth parted and red, his neck bruised from where Cas has sucked at the skin. He thrusts down onto Dean over and over, feeling Dean’s hips move to meet his, jerkily, clearly too close to the edge to function properly.

 

“Cas, fuck, don’t stop…” Dean is saying, little stutter gasps coming from him now, and Cas can’t get enough of it. He hardly ever sees Dean this wrecked, and it’s incredible. “Fuck, that’s it, faster…”

 

Cas has lost all control now, his nails dig into Dean’s shoulders, his thighs ache from how fast his hips are pumping, but he can feel his orgasm on the horizon, and more importantly, he can feel Dean’s, so close now – Dean’s eyes are screwed shut, his hands are clawing at Cas’s back – any moment now-

 

“Fuck! Christ, Cas- Ohh, fff-”

 

Cas can feel Dean’s come pumping into him, hot jets of it spurting out in bursts, but he doesn’t care, he’s too focused on Dean’s face, the stars he swears flicker across Dean’s eyes, the way Dean bites his lip, the slow slackening of his body as his orgasm ebbs away.

 

He doesn’t even realise he’s still hard.

 

“God damn it, Cas.” Dean pants, refocusing after a few drawn out seconds. “That was- hold up, you didn’t…?”

 

Castiel cocks his head, not realising what Dean means. All of a sudden, that vulnerability, that free, open expression Dean had worn mid and post orgasm just disappears, and Dean’s grin fixes itself back in place.

 

Before Cas can blink, Dean is standing up, arms wrapped around Castiel so he doesn’t fall, and he’s being deposited on the bed. Okay, yeah, Cas had forgotten exactly how turned on he was, but now he fucking remembers as Dean crawls over him, pressing his lips to Cas’s throat, his collarbone, his chest, making his way down until…

 

“Ah!” Castiel cries out, hips bucking forwards as Dean’s lips touch against the very sensitive head of his cock. “Shit.”

 

“So eloquent.” Dean mumbles, and then slides his entire fucking mouth over Cas’s dick, warm, velvety, utterly impossible not to thrust into.

 

Castiel freezes as soon as he hits the back of Dean’s throat, certain he just made him gag, but Dean doesn’t seem to care if so. So, cautiously, Cas does it again, not so hard this time, and Dean makes a throaty sound of encouragement.

 

Castiel moans, realising what’s happening quickly, and cursing the Heavens because he knows he has about three seconds before he comes until he can’t see straight. He pushes his hips up once more, and Dean sucks, his tongue flicking devilishly. Well, that’s all it takes really. Cas comes with a shout, swearing Dean’s name and reaching for his hand, which Dean gives to him willingly.

 

Dean laps up every drop of what Cas spills, drinking him down like he’s desperate for it, which just makes Cas’s orgasm last for about two fucking years. Spent and exhausted, he reaches for Dean, pulling him up to entwine him in a lazy, messy, naked kiss.

 

“I fucking love you.” Castiel says just before Dean’s tongue shuts him up.

 

Dean laughs a lot into Cas’s mouth, but after about ten minutes of some pretty hardcore making out slash cuddling, he says it back. And that’s all Cas needs to hear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas has never really understood football. Even now, when he goes to every single one of Dean's games, he still can't grasp it. He can't figure out why it is either, though maybe it has something to do with how distracting Dean is in his red shorts, those tanned, perfectly sculpted calves visible as he sprints across the field, the blush settling into his cheeks as the wind whips at them, the sight of his muscles contracting as he makes each throw...
> 
> What was the question again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, if you're thinking this chapter is a little late, I apologise, I can only say I'll be posting as often as I can. I'm gonna try for twice a week. The days will inevitably vary. 
> 
> Keep an eye on your inboxes and don't forget to subscribe! Love to you all! 
> 
> xxx

They lie together like that for probably longer than can be considered hygienic, but neither of them want to move, so they just don’t. Cas flings himself over Dean’s chest, mind running a mile a minute over all the many revelations he just had in regards to Dean; watching him come undone like that was a whole other experience.

 

It’s giving him ideas.

 

“What’s takin’ you away from me then, huh?” Dean asks suddenly, and Cas tilts his head towards Dean, smiling because he sounds pouty. “Must be pretty interestin’.”

 

“Oh, it is.” Castiel confirms, but kisses Dean anyway, reassuring him that nothing is better than this, no matter what epiphanies he might be having.

 

“Care to share?” Dean asks, a little dazed once Cas leans away from the kiss.

 

Castiel contemplates this. He could just ask Dean about his sexual experiences, ask if he’s ever tried… being more submissive, and if he’d be into that. Castiel knows from experience that Dean likes it to an extent – he liked it that time Cas took control because he was able to snatch that control back again, thereby proving his dominance tenfold.

 

But had he actually liked it while he was playing the submissive role? He certainly looked like he did. Castiel feels a coil of arousal twisting inside of him at the thought of Dean on his knees in the unused Science lab, nothing but his Letterman on his upper half, following Cas’s orders so obediently, eyes dark and lustblown, hanging on Cas’s every word.

 

Cas hadn’t really been into it at the time, he was too nervous, too afraid of getting it wrong, but now… well, now that he’s seen what he could potentially do to Dean, he’s not sure he’ll be able to get it out of his mind.

 

He’d like to at least give it a try.

 

He stares up at Dean, wondering if now is the time to bring it up. Dean’s eyebrow is raised cockily, clearly assuming – quite rightly – that whatever’s distracting Cas right now is undoubtedly filthy.

 

All of a sudden, Dean’s hands grip Cas’s sides, flipping him onto his back and leaning over him. Cas wants to complain, because Dean can’t just _do_ that, it’s so fucking unfair, now Cas’s heart is racing again, he can feel the blood rushing towards his groin, and Dean’s lips are millimetres from his own.

 

“Not gonna tell me, huh?” Dean murmurs, and Castiel is entranced by Dean’s thick eyelashes fluttering as his gaze travels over Cas’s body. “Maybe I’ll just have to get it out of you somehow.”

 

Castiel moans, his eyes rolling back as he pulls Dean closer, writhing a little as Dean peppers kisses over his neck and chest. Yeah, this is not the time, he thinks, he’ll wait for an opportune moment to bring it up. A point when Dean is feeling happy and comfortable about his sexuality, when he seems open to experimentation.

 

Cas gasps then, Dean’s fingers travelling to places he can’t cope with so soon after last time and-

 

He surrenders to it, burying his fingers in Dean’s hair and holding on for dear life.

 

* * *

 

 

“You comin’ to the game later?” Dean asks the following morning, prising himself free of Cas’s arms with a multitude of very distracting kisses, otherwise Cas would never let him go. “You could wear a cute little cheerleading outfit if you want. I’ll get Anna to grab you one.”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes at Dean’s words. “Yes, of course I am coming to the game. No, I will not be indulging your weird pom-pom fetish.”

 

Dean feigns a look of sadness that is unfortunately very convincing. Damn those puppy dog eyes of his. Cas sighs, exasperated.

 

“Fine, if you can get me a cheerleading outfit, I will wear it for you _when we’re alone._ ” Castiel says, defeated, blushing quite a lot at the thought of it.

 

Dean grins at him, winking. “I’m already workin’ on it.”

Castiel can’t help but laugh, though he does swat Dean with a nearby cushion. “Asshole.”

 

“You have to admit, you’d look fuckin’ hot in that tight little skirt.” Dean says, finally managing to sit up, and swinging his legs out of the bed. He throws Cas a wink though, clearly meaning every word. “You’ve got killer legs, babe.”

 

Cas chooses to ignore this comment, though he feels like his burning cheeks answer enough for him. “Where are you going?”

 

He’s aware he sounds demanding and petulant, but he has a point – where _is_ Dean going? It’s Sunday. Why can’t he immediately crawl back into bed? Dean laughs at him, pulling on his underwear in a way that just makes Cas pout.

 

“I’ve got practice, angel.” Dean says, regretfully. “It’s not till two, but I wanna get a shower in and eat somethin’. Plus I feel like I haven’t made any Alpha-ish decisions in a while. Place is prob’ly fallin’ apart.”

 

“Pfft.” Castiel says. “Who’s your second in command?”

 

For some reason, Dean grins at this as he pulls on his jeans. “Guess.”

 

Castiel thinks about it for a minute. Who would Dean choose as the Vice President of his Fraternity? That’s an important job. He doesn’t think Dean would give it to Gordon, he’s too much of a hothead.

 

“Luke?” Castiel guesses, figuring that’s pretty likely.

 

Dean barks a laugh. “Luke? In charge? Not a friggin’ chance. He’s a one-of-the-crowd type o’guy. Give a guy like that too much power, he’ll bring the whole Frat down.”

 

Castiel nods, though he doesn’t quite get what Dean means. He trusts his judgement though, obviously. It’s things like this that are the reasons Dean is in charge. So who would it be, then? Who’s Dean’s Vice-

 

“Oh my God.” Castiel says, wide eyed, shaking his head. It can’t be. “Gabriel?!”

 

Dean laughs, shrugging once, and nods. “Dude’s good at party planning, knows how to keep the Pledges in check without beatin’ the crap outta them – good with the ladies, scary as Hell with those pranks o’his… yeah. He’s a good Beta.”

 

“Dean, y-you’ve made a huge error.”

 

Dean laughs again, reaching for his tee and threading his arms through it. “If I did, I made it two and a half years ago, Cas. He’s been pretty good in his role up till now.”

 

That surprises Castiel, he must say. How come he’s only finding out about this now? Why has Gabriel never told him of his rank? Is he embarrassed?

 

It actually kind of makes sense. That’s why Gabriel was so sure Cas would be allowed in to the Fraternity Halloween party that time, because he invited him, and he’s second in command.

 

Wow.

 

Mindfuck.

 

Castiel shakes the thought from his mind for the time being. “Do you have to leave now? I have food here. Showers too, and I can be in them with you…”

 

Dean smiles at him fondly, walking over to plant a kiss on his lips. “Sorry, angel. If I had it my way I’d never leave this bed.” He leans away, Cas sighing as he retreats. “Where’d you throw my socks?”

 

“ _You_ threw them onto the desk.” Cas replies, smirking, and Dean snatches them up grinning.

 

“So, I’ll see you after the game?” Dean asks, tying his shoes, and he looks up with such a hopeful expression that Cas’s heart flips.

 

He nods, smiling. “Yeah, I’ll come congratulate you on your big win.”

 

Dean blushes ever so slightly, laughing the compliment away. “Shut up. C’mere.”

 

Dean leans over the bed one last time, infuriatingly clothed now, though it doesn’t stop Cas from trying to remove Dean’s shirt. Dean laughs and grabs hold of his wrists, kissing them gently, and tells him he’ll see him tonight.

 

“Love you,” Cas calls as Dean slips out the door.

 

“Love you too, gorgeous.” He hears called back, and he flops back onto the pillow, content.

After basking in the afterglow of a glorious evening spent with Dean for half an hour or so, Castiel decides it’s probably time to face the day. He clambers out of bed, noting that he definitely needs to wash his sheets today – and wanders over to his tiny bathroom.

Flicking on the light, he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror, his eyes widening at some of the more prominent marks on his skin. He runs his fingertips over them lightly, images flashing into his mind of Dean’s mouth closing over his neck, the sharp scrape of his teeth, the teasing flicks of tongue.

 

Cas shivers, heaving his mind back from the precipice of arousal.

 

Enough, he tells himself, it’s shower time.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s around midday by the time Cas has showered, eaten, dressed, stripped his bed and traipsed through campus to shove his dirty sheets in the coinwash.

 

He gets back to his room, a little exhausted from the trek, probably made worse by the fact he barely got any sleep last night, not that he’s complaining. He checks his watch. Okay, he thinks, he’s got just under six hours before the game starts, and he needs to be in prime position to watch.

 

His heart does a nervous little flutter thinking about watching Dean later. It’s insane knowing that the star quarterback of the college football team is his boyfriend, and even more insane – knowing that everyone else knows it too.

 

Cas gets a special seat now to watch the games, practically on the sidelines, in the area where the benched players, the sports teachers and coaches sit. Dean had insisted, telling his coach, Bobby, that seeing Cas’s face in the stands really helps his focus.

 

It’s probably bullshit, Cas is aware, heck Coach Singer is almost definitely aware, that guy seems to be able to smell a lie from the other end of the field; Cas is really starting to like sitting so near him. But Dean is the star of the team so he gets away with murder, and Cas is certainly not complaining. It means that he gets to watch Dean up close, see him sprinting across the field, a sheen of perspiration on his neck, his sharply toned muscles straining as he moves.

 

Sometimes he’ll do something cheeky, turning to wink at Cas just before he makes some unimaginable move, throwing the ball for seemingly miles, only to be caught by his teammate easily.

 

Cas isn’t gonna lie, it’s pretty fucking hot watching Dean, especially if he’s smirking and winking at Cas the whole damn time, even as he revs up the crowd. It just gives Cas ideas, makes him want Dean to pick him up, to fuck him roughly against a locker, or on the startlingly green grass of the field itself or-

 

Castiel realises belatedly that his phone is ringing. He scrabbles for it, half-aware that he’d been in the middle of untying his shoes when he drifted off into that daydream.

 

Eventually, he manages to get the vibrating thing out of his pocket. It’s Gabriel.

 

“Hello, Gabe.”

 

“Cassy dear.”

 

“…Why are you calling?”

 

“Can’t a brother just call to check in on his-”

 

“Gabe.” Cas interrupts, not in the mood for Gabriel’s bullshit.

 

“Fine. Your boyfriend is being a pighead. Yet again.”

 

Castiel sighs, not able to keep the small smile from creeping onto his face when he imagines Dean going head to head with his idiotic brother, putting him in his place.

 

“I find that difficult to believe.” Castiel says. “Are you being a tad bratty perhaps?”

 

“No!” Gabriel replies at once, clearly affronted. “He walked in the door, and like, after two seconds demanded that I clear out all the strippers and dwarves, like – he didn’t even give me a chance to explain!”

 

Castiel nods distractedly, determinedly not picturing what on earth Gabriel had been doing at the Frat house before Dean got back there.

 

“Uh huh. It’s terrible, truly.” Castiel says.

 

“So you’ll, y’know… punish him?” Gabriel asks, and Castiel makes a disgusted sound.

 

“Gabe! Even for you that’s a disturbing request.”

 

“But-”

 

“No, Gabe. It’s not happening, I’m not getting involved in whatever President/Vice President squabbles you and Dean get into. It’s between you and him to sort out. Don’t get me involved.” Castiel pauses, listening with satisfaction to Gabriel’s annoyed sigh of consent. “I plan to tell Dean the same thing.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Fine.” Castiel says. There’s a slight pause. “So are we still going to the game together later?”

 

“O’course bro!” Gabriel declares, suddenly impossibly chipper again. Honestly, talking to Gabriel can give someone a coronary, Cas thinks. “I’ll swing by yours at like five thirty.”

 

Castiel smiles, happy to know that despite the constant bickering between Dean and Gabriel, it seems that deep down, all three of them can be more or less amiable. If Gabriel is willing to put the argument he was so upset about not a minute ago behind himself in order to attend Dean’s football game, then things must be okay.

 

Unless of course Gabriel is going to support his other 'brothers' on the team. Castiel frowns for a second, wondering. Hmm.

 

“Uh, Cas?” Gabriel prompts, and Castiel realises he hasn’t answered yet. “What’s happening? Do you wanna go see your irritating hottie stride around a field and inevitably win us the game or… not?”

 

Castiel laughs. “No, trust me, I do. I’ll see you at five thirty. Don’t be late please.”

 

“Am I ever?”

 

“…Yes. Often.”

 

Castiel realises belatedly that Gabriel has already hung up. He sighs, shaking his head fondly. Before he can even place his phone down however, he receives a text, from Gabriel himself.

**The Trickster :{D**

Love youuuuuu ;D x

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Dean throws Castiel a glance is around ten minutes into the game. To a casual observer, the look appears entirely innocent, just Dean checking that his boyfriend is where he’s supposed to be, waiting for him at the sidelines. Castiel however sees everything that this glance conceals.

 

Dean’s eyes don’t just stop on his, they slide over to him as he jogs backwards, his silvery puffs of breath visible even from where Cas is sitting. He doesn’t smile exactly, but the older boy’s eyes sparkle just a little, crinkling slightly at the sides. Cas is impressed he can see it through Dean's helmet.

 

Just before Dean turns away again, his teeth catch hold of his lower lip, so brief Cas could have almost imagined it, though he knows he didn’t.

 

Bastard, Cas thinks loudly, hoping Dean can hear the thought, because now of course Cas is left fighting off his own arousal, shifting in his seat to conceal his growing erection.

 

It’s particularly awkward due to the fact he is currently seated next to Gabriel, who managed to weasel his way into the priority viewing area with some vaguely ambiguous threats of future pranks to some of the benched players, all of whom gave up their seats to the renowned Trickster without question.

 

Castiel can’t blame them. It’s much better for their general wellbeing to do as Gabe says. Even so, Cas can’t help but wish those benched players had had a little more spine in them now that Gabriel is side-eyeing him while he fidgets, a clear ‘what the fuck are you doing’ expression settled into his features.

 

“What?” Castiel asks, aware of how defensive he sounds. “I’m cold.”

 

It’s not like it’s a lie exactly, the wind is whipping through Cas mercilessly, seeming not to take notice of the thick coat he’s wrapping around himself, weaving its way through the stitching and prickling his skin with goosebumps. Cas almost feels sorry for Dean running around in his shorts and jersey, but then again…

 

Cas watches, eyes slightly glazed as he watches the slide of the thin jersey material over Dean’s rippling biceps, the steady pound of his legs as his feet hit the ground, calf muscles rock hard and taut.

 

No, he thinks, smiling a little to himself, he doesn’t feel sorry for Dean. Not really.

 

Belatedly, he realises Gabriel is laughing at him. He turns to his brother, confused. “What?”

 

“My God Cassy, keep it in your pants. You are so disgustingly smitten.” Gabriel says, still chuckling. “Look at you, you’re practically drooling!”

 

Castiel wastes no time in giving Gabriel a stern bitchface, followed swiftly by a sharp shove, almost off his chair. Unfortunately, it only makes Gabe laugh harder.

 

“Shut up!”

 

“God, what is he doing to you?” Gabriel asks, far too loudly for Cas’s comfort. Coach Singer glances over to them briefly from where he’s parked his chair close to the perimeter of the field. Cas blushes and avoids his eyes. God, how embarrassing. He wonders what the guy must think. At that moment however, to Cas’s horror, Gabriel decides to turn to the art of mimicry to further his hilarious joke. His voice becomes a high pitched croon, presumably meant to imitate Cas himself, though Cas can’t hear the similarities. “'Ohhh, Dean, you’re so hunky in your sweaty, too big shorts that you probably haven’t washed for five months, please, take me in the locker room!'”

 

Cas slams a hand over his brother’s mouth, appalled that Gabriel would say such things aloud for Dean’s teammates, his coach, members of the audience, heck, for the Queen of England to hear.

 

"Jesus, Gabe, keep it down!" Castiel hisses, scandalised. 

 

He’s also appalled that Gabriel is so catastrophically dead on about exactly what Cas is thinking right now, but that is something he would rather die than admit, obviously.

 

Gabriel is busy licking Cas’s palm, trying to get Cas to pull his hand away, but Castiel sticks it out, undeterred. He’s had Gabriel do worse things to him than paint his hand with saliva, he can take this if it means his brother will damn well shut up.

 

But, right then, at that moment, a familiar voice sails through the air from behind them, a prominent smile in the tone.

 

“Maybe later, angel!”

 

It’s Dean. Cas doesn’t even have to turn around to know of course, but he does, waving meekly as Dean laughs and winks at him from the sidelines, then blows him a brief kiss.

 

It earns Dean a cheer from the crowd, and Castiel blushes, burying his face in Gabriel’s shoulder, which is shaking uncontrollably from the fits of laughter emanating from the Trickster’s mouth.

 

"Yeah, yeah, tuck your dick away, Winchester, we've got a game to win, y'idjit." Coach Singer yells at Dean, who just laughs as he chucks the ball to Luke across the field. 

 

Cas wants to shrivel up and die.

 

Humiliating.

 

Weirdly though, all Cas can think about is Gabe's strangely accurate coveted fantasy scenario of his. The locker room. It's not particularly special place to fantasise about having sex with your partner, Cas is aware, but something about the idea of it gets him all tingly.

 

He's had many daydreams about finding Dean in there, towel wrapped, mud-splattered or even completely naked. Or maybe Cas waits for him there, enticingly, sprawled across one of the slatted benches. 

 

Either way, they usually end up doing it hard up against the lockers. You know, in Cas's mind. 

 

* * *

 

 

Dean’s team win, of course. Castiel doesn’t really pay attention to the score. He tries, just like he does every time, telling himself that this time he will watch closely to properly understand the rules of football, then he can have an intelligent conversation with Dean about it after-

 

Inevitably however, this doesn’t happen. Instead, Cas once again finds himself completely captivated by the sight of Dean sprinting across the grass, flecks of mud spattering his legs, winking at Cas whenever he can get away with it.

 

Cas gets up from his seat at the end awkwardly, wrapping his coat around himself to try and hide how painfully hard he is after watching what seemed to him like an obscenely sensual performance from his boyfriend that was for some reason open to public display.

 

Gabriel grins at him, slinging an arm round his shoulder and tormenting him with lewd questions as they head into the stadium.

 

“So which of Dean’s muscles looked the most appetizing to you, Cassy?”

 

Castiel steadfastly ignores him of course, though he does privately answer these questions in the safety of his own mind. Calves, he thinks, licking his lips absent-mindedly.

 

“I think I’m gonna, um-” Cas begins to say, glancing down the hallway, and Gabriel rolls his eyes, unwinding his arm from Cas’s shoulders.

 

“Shocker.” Gabriel interrupts him. “Gonna ditch your big bro so you can climb your meathead boyfriend like a tree, huh?”

 

Castiel glares at Gabriel. “Gabe, don’t call him that.”

 

“Sorry, your meathead _mancandy_.”

 

Castiel sighs, stopping in his tracks and pulling Gabriel to one side, away from the cheering crowd pouring into the stadium either side of them, a blur of the college colours, red and white.

 

“Gabe… do you really hate him?” Cas asks, not quite wanting to ask the question, but feeling he has to. “I mean I know you guys fight a lot, but I thought with you being ‘brothers’ and all…”

 

“Aw, c’mon Cassy don’t make it all…” Gabriel looks heavenward, sighing loudly. “God, you’re gonna make me sound so _lame._ ” Castiel says nothing, a crease forming in his brow. Gabe’s eyes slide down to his, and Cas can see the tension fall from his shoulders. “Man, okay look Mister Insecurity, I don’t give a fuck about all that Frat brotherhood shit, the only brother I care about is you, jackass.”

 

“Wow, how heartfelt.” Castiel replies, rolling his eyes, but Gabriel tuts and grabs his shoulders.

 

“Listen, I’m pouring my heart out here.” Gabriel insists. “The point is that while I may have my issues with Winchester, for some unfathomable reason he makes my favourite sibling happy, so I’ve basically gotta suck it up.”

 

“…I’m your only sibling.”

 

“Yeah, and you’re still my favourite.” Gabriel shifts, serious discomfort on his face. “Dean can be a royal dick, but I will begrudgingly admit that there are things about him that are good too. The most important being that he loves you so much it’s sickening.”

 

“So… you’ll be nice to him?” Cas asks hopefully.

 

“Hell no!” Gabriel cries, chuckling a little. “I reserve the right, as a member of his beloved Fraternity, and as his second-in-command, to bitch at him, or about him whenever I want.” Castiel frowns at this, sighing again. He’ll never win, it seems. “But put it this way, Cassy ol’ pal. Think of how much worse I could, nay, _would_  be to him if he pissed me off and he wasn’t the object of your affection. Heck, you know better than anyone.”

 

Castiel nods, images of moonings, being pinned and dribbled on, buckets of icy water, urine or worse falling from on top of doors flashing before his eyes.

 

“And that’s as good as I can hope for?” Castiel asks his brother, already knowing the answer.

 

“Little bro, Dean and I are not destined for jagged heart ‘BFF’ necklaces.” Gabriel tells him, a touch of condescension in his voice, Cas thinks. “It’s just not the natural order. But whether I like it or not, he and I will forever be Psi Delta Alpha ‘brothers’ or whatever, and as long as you want him around and still think the sun shines out of his gluteus maximus, I’ll tone down how badly I torture the muttonhead, I promise.”

 

Castiel is left reeling from that statement, searching for the appropriate response in his mind, but at that moment, while his mouth hangs open, someone calls out from amidst the crowds.

 

“Hey, Gabe!”

 

They both turn towards the sound, catching sight of the familiar fan of auburn hair surrounding the face of Anna Milton, grinning away at them both. She sticks a pom pom in the air, waving it to and fro.

 

“Gabe, get over here, we’re heading back to mine for a victory party!”

 

The sight of Anna still sets Castiel’s teeth on edge, and he can’t stop the torturous image of her lips pressed to Dean’s as he pinned her against a wall from slamming into his mind. He clenches his jaw, closing his eyes against the surge of anger he feels. Let it go, he tells himself. Dean is yours now. Besides, it isn’t her fault.

 

“You too, Cas!” Anna shouts, seemingly spotting him for the first time, and Castiel forces him to smile and wave at her. “Gabe! Butt here, now!”

 

Cas has since met Anna properly of course, and was irritated to find that she’s actually a very pleasant girl – bright, funny and easy to talk to. She also happens to be the President of her own Sorority, Theta Phi.

 

It doesn’t help Castiel’s irrational rage that on paper she and Dean are basically a perfect match. She, the beautiful head cheerleader who also runs the most popular sorority on campus, and he the gorgeous star quarterback who runs the most popular Frat.

 

But Dean doesn’t love her, Castiel reminds his stupid brain for the thousandth time. He doesn’t sneak over to her dorm room every night, doesn’t kiss her for hours on end because he can’t bring himself to stop, doesn’t text her that he misses her or spend the early hours of the morning worshipping every inch of her body until she’s gasping for oxygen, wrung out with pleasure.

 

Those things, and so much more, are saved exclusively for Castiel. He needs to remember that.

 

“Bro, I’ll catch you later!” Gabe is calling out, breaking Cas out of his reverie. He realises he is now alone, and turns to watch as Gabriel disappears into the throng of people, in the general direction Anna had been standing. “Give Dean-o a spank for me!”

 

Castiel groans, ducks his head from the laughter that ensues from the surrounding crowds, and walks determinedly towards the locker rooms. Just... to find Dean of course. Nothing else.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Cas makes it to the locker rooms, the crowds have thinned. He places his hand on the double doors hesitantly, still wary of this mystical land of the alpha male. Last time he entered the locker rooms he was very nearly beaten within an inch of his life just for daring to cross the border into such a place, so he takes a moment to steel himself before going inside.

 

At that second, the door pushes open into him, sending him reeling backwards a short way, and what seems to be the entirety of the college football team barrel out into him, laughing and cheering at their win. Several of them spot him – a stark difference to when they used to glide past him, oblivious, outside the science labs, Cas can’t help but think – and cheer at him, call out his name, ruffle his hair.

 

Luke, in particular, stops and slings an arm around his shoulder squeezing him affectionately. “There you are, Cas! Dean’s lookin’ for you, skinny.”

 

“Think he’s after a little reward for his hard-earned win!” One of the others calls out, sending a rippling laugh resounding through the team, who are grouped nearby, waiting for Luke to rejoin them.

 

“He’s in there,” Luke tells him, winking, and Cas blushes as Luke gestures towards the doors to the locker room again. “We’re headed to Theta Phi, come join us when you’re uh, _ready_.”

 

The rest of the team rush him then, jeering and laughing; before Cas knows it, he’s lifted from the ground, carried by several pairs of strong, heavily muscled arms. He yelps, alarmed, and searches for something to hang onto, but finds nothing, able only to watch, near petrified as the team carry him through the two sets of double doors into the locker room.

 

At the sound of the ruckus, Dean emerges from behind a row of lockers, grinning at his teammates, laughing when he sees Cas in their arms.

 

The locker room looks the same as Cas remembers it, except the whiteboard is now covered in crudely scribbled penises, all of which surround the words ‘We Win Fuckers!’. Cas tries to ignore the desperate need he feels to add a comma. 

 

Of course the other significant difference is Dean himself, in the midst of the steamy, mud-splattered room, glowing like a ruby-coloured beacon of Godlike beauty, making Cas’s breath catch in his throat.

 

The rest of it, the bare, splintered benches, the old, rusty lockers, the badly drawn graffiti on dirty, whitewashed walls – it all just fades away as Cas takes in the sight of him, as their eyes meet, and Dean’s expression settles into that one that sends shivers down Cas’s spine.

 

“Brought you a present, Alpha.” Someone says, and all at once Cas is being set down, surprisingly carefully, though it doesn’t stop him squealing just a little bit.

 

“A trophy!” Luke cries, grinning away as he pushes Cas forwards slightly.

 

Dean just continues staring at him, that same predatory expression on his face, though he doesn’t move.

 

“Yours for the keeping. We definitely don’t want it back when you’re done!” Someone else shouts, and just like that, they start filing out again, wolf whistling and making lewd sounds in their wake.

 

“Have fun, fellas!” Luke shouts as the doors swing shut behind them all, and Castiel can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

 

“They’re very loud people, your teammates.” Cas says, painfully aware as he does so that it’s the first word he’s spoken to Dean yet.

 

Dean smirks at him, taking a step closer; immediately Cas feels his body temperature rising thirty degrees. “Aw, I happen to know you can be pretty loud yourself, sweetheart. With some motivation, o’course.”

 

Cas doesn’t really know how it happened, but all at once Dean’s hand is on his hip, and he’s edging closer, still.

 

“C-congratulations.” Castiel stammers out, close enough now to smell the perspiration on Dean’s neck and chest. Weirdly it’s not an unpleasant smell, maybe because Castiel is just so goddamned attracted to this boy – the pheromones are probably pouring out of his skin right now. Cas imagines them filling his sinuses, flooding his veins, pushing his blood downwards. “On y-your big win.”

 

“Aw, look at you all flustered.” Dean murmurs, their lips so close together now that they almost brush; Cas almost feels the soft, velvety slide of Dean’s mouth, but doesn’t. “Whats’a matter? You get all hot and bothered when I’m dressed like this, huh?” Dean’s other hand is on the back of Cas’s head now, his fingers tracing the curve of his skull down to the base of his neck. “When I’m all hot and sweaty from winning us the game?”

 

Cas doesn’t bother lying, what would be the point? Dean would get it out of him eventually. He nods, biting his lip, eyes trained on Dean’s mouth.

 

“Yeah?” Dean confirms, smiling at his answer. Cas feels the hand on his hip sliding across his posterior, gripping tightly. Cas can’t help himself, he smooths his own hands up Dean’s waist, feeling the slight dampness of his football jersey, imagining the glistening skin beneath. “What is it that gets you so excited, huh? D’you imagine me doin’ things to you lookin’ like this?”

 

Cas whimpers a little at this, grasping the material of Dean’s jersey in his fists.

 

“Yes.” He breathes.

 

“Is that right?” Dean asks, running his index finger along Cas’s jaw and under his chin, tilting his head up so that their eyes meet.

 

All at once Dean is kissing him, far too softly for Cas’s needs at this moment, though he doesn’t dare complain. Dean’s hand is still firmly on his ass, squeezing possessively, and Cas almost thrusts into it, needing more, but he holds himself still, behaving. Dean pulls away just slightly, the hand not on Cas’s behind sliding itself under Cas’s t-shirt, making Cas gasp.

 

“D’you imagine me fucking you, Cas?” Dean whispers, his voice somehow filthy and barely audible all at once. Cas trembles under Dean’s fingers, gripping Dean’s jersey so tightly he’d be afraid of ripping it in any other situation. “Imagine me doin’ you nice and hard on one o’these benches, huh?”

 

Cas groans a little, trying to capture Dean’s mouth again but finding Dean pulls away when he tries, smiling at the power he holds. “L-lockers.”

 

Cas blinks as soon as the word slips free of his disobedient mouth. He stares into Dean’s wide eyes, suddenly terrified that he spoke out of turn.

 

“Lockers?” Dean repeats, cocking an eyebrow. “Not benches?" Dean waits expectantly, and cautiously, Cas shakes his head. "Been thinkin’ about this a lot, huh?”

 

Castiel nods fervently, his hands misbehaving, moving almost of their own accord now, roaming Dean’s body, slipping over his ass. He curses his own actions, unable to stop himself – damn it, he was doing so well at being good for once.

 

Dean chuckles at Cas’s eagerness, darting out of the way just in time again as Cas lunges in for another kiss. “Someone’s eager.”

 

“S-sorry.” Cas makes himself say, forcing himself to stop, to just slow down. “You just looked s-so good out there, and you’re all…” Cas’s eyes roam over Dean’s body, biting his lip hard. He can’t explain how Dean looks to him right now. Delicious is the word that springs to mind. He can’t say that though, it’s ridiculous.

 

Dean is smiling down at Cas, a look of fondness in his expression that makes Cas’s heart stutter. “Well aren’t you lucky I’m in such a good mood, baby.”

 

Cas is totally off-guard when Dean swoops down and kisses him, firmly, pushing against Cas’s mouth with insistence until he allows Dean’s tongue inside. Dean’s arms wind around his middle, encircling him totally, and Cas slips his hands around Dean’s neck, holding on tightly.

 

“Lucky for you,” Dean is saying against his mouth, and suddenly Cas realises he’s being walked slowly backwards, towards the part of the locker room Cas hasn’t seen, behind the lockers, “I just won a game against some of our heaviest competitors.” Dean bites down on Cas’s lip, his hands slipping down to the backs of Cas’s thighs. “Jump, baby.”

 

It takes Cas a minute to catch up, to work out what Dean is asking of him, but then he realises. He jumps up, lifting his legs high, and Dean keeps a strong hold of his thighs, allowing Cas to wrap his legs around Dean’s waist. All in all, it’s turning into a really really good day, Cas thinks.

 

He makes a noise of enthusiasm into Dean’s mouth, to which he receives a responding chuckle. Suddenly there is cold metal against Cas’s back, and Cas gasps at the shock of it, even through his t-shirt. Dean is pressing him back, against the lockers, kissing fervently, frantically even, adjusting Cas in his arms until their hips align.

 

Cas can't believe this is actually happening. It's too fucking good to be true. Dean is pressing him against the lockers right now. This is just like every single one of his fantasies. He kisses back with enthusiasm, showing Dean just how much he is appreciating this. 

 

“Like I said baby,” Dean continues, and Cas wants to moan just at the sound of his voice, God, “I just won a game, and lucky for you, all I wanna do is claim my prize.”

 

“Am I your prize?” Cas asks desperately as Dean starts to mouth at his jaw, pressing his hips forwards impossibly slowly. “Fuck…”

 

Cas’s head lolls back against the lockers, clunking audibly when his skull connects with the hard metal, but he doesn't care. Nothing could ruin this. Dean’s mouth is pressing against his neck now, peppering kisses, with the occasional hint of teeth scraping against his pulse.

 

“You’re my prize, gorgeous.” Dean confirms, and kisses him slowly, deeply, grinding filthily against him until Cas goes slack in his arms. “You’re the reason I do so good out there,” Dean’s hand starts scrabbling at Cas’s fly, opening his jeans and delving inside, “cause I know you’re watchin’ me, gettin’ all hot and bothered like you do every time. And afterwards, I get to do this.”

 

Dean’s hand slips beneath the waistband of Cas’s underwear, grasping hold of his dick in one easy motion. Cas swears, brokenly, still pinned to the lockers by Dean’s hips.

 

“Fuck, Dean…”

 

“Angel, you’re so hard for me, aren't you?”

 

Suddenly Dean is leaning away, letting Cas’s feet find the floor again, keep himself upright. Maybe he’s too heavy, Cas thinks, mildly bewildered at this idea when he considers all the many times Dean has proven how easily he can carry, lift and hold Cas in various ways.

 

Cas reaches for him, trying to pull him close at least, but Dean leans away, slipping his hand out of Cas’s pants. “Take ‘em off, Cas.”

 

Obediently, without fuss, Cas begins methodically removing his pants and underwear. Dean gestures for him to keep going, so Cas does, stripping off his t-shirt. He’s completely naked now, Cas is aware, but he’s relatively used to this by now with Dean, and knows by this point that it’s part of how Dean gets a feeling of control, to be clothed while Cas is bare.

 

Being naked in the locker room, however, a public area, is less familiar to Cas. He can’t help but glance at the door, wondering what happened to Coach Singer after the game, if there’s a chance he, or anyone else, might just wander in.

 

Dean walks back over to him then, but instead of placing his hands on Cas’s body like Cas craves, Dean reaches above his head, to a locker above Cas’s right shoulder. Cas doesn't dare move, doesn't even reach out to touch Dean despite him standing right before him. What if he's not allowed? He can't ruin this, it's his fantasy. Dean opens it without a word, the combination clearly familiar to him, and Cas just watches Dean’s indescribably beautiful face as he roots around inside.

 

Three seconds later, the locker is closed, Dean has a bottle of cherry lube in his hand, a glimmer of excitement in his eye, and his free hand is back on the rear of Cas’s thigh.

 

“Hold this.” Dean says, handing Cas the lube. He slips his other hand to the back of Cas’s thigh also, and before Dean even asks, Cas knows to jump again. Dean catches him easily, pinning him in place again with his hips, hands moving up to grip Cas’s tapered waist. “Good, angel.”

 

Dean presses forwards, and the soft, thin material of his shorts does nothing to hide his erection, making Cas moan a little. Dean rubs himself carefully against Cas, thrusting gently, teasing almost, kissing Cas infrequently, and far too chaste, until Cas wants to scream with frustration.

 

Dean’s hands are wandering, so Cas tangles his own fingers, the ones not holding the lube, into Dean’s hair. Dean runs his hands over Cas’s hips, along the tops of his sparsely bristled thighs, brushing teasingly over his erection, then dipping low, to the globes of his ass, kneading and pulling.

 

Cas’s breaths start coming thicker and faster, his fingers tightening their grip in Dean’s hair. He knows what Dean is doing, where his hands are wandering to, and he tries to brace himself, but all he achieves is a surge of anticipatory arousal, practically stinging him with impatience for what’s coming next. Cas squeezes his thighs together around Dean’s waist, a display of his urgency.

 

“Shh, baby, just relax.” Dean murmurs, fingers tickling patterns over Cas’s ass. “I’m gonna take care o’you.”

 

Finally, after what seems like centuries, Dean’s fingers slide into the crease of his ass, and Cas braces himself for Dean’s reaction, knowing what he’s going to find.

 

Dean sucks in a breath.

 

“Ohh, I see.” Dean says, and his voice is a careful monotone, not giving away his reaction just yet. Cas bites his lip. “Got yourself ready for me, did you?”

 

Cas’s heart picks up its pace. Is Dean pleased? He can’t tell. At the time, wearing a plug to Dean’s football game seemed like a fantastic idea. Who knows what the reality is? He hasn’t worn it of his own accord since that first time when he tutored Dean, and even then Dean did specifically request that he wore it.

 

Dean’s fingers grasp the end of the plug suddenly, roughly, and Cas yelps, feeling the way it moves inside of him.

 

“Is that what you’ve been doin’ since I left this mornin’, huh?” Dean asks, eyes boring into Cas’s, brilliantly green, fiery and passionate. “Fuckin’ yourself with this little toy, gettin’ your hole all nice and stretched like the little slut you are, huh?”

 

Cas makes a broken sound, practically a whimper, accentuated by Dean thrusting his hips forwards again, rougher this time, grinding him into the locker. Cas just nods fervently at Dean’s question.

 

“Are you my little slut, Cas?” Dean asks, kissing Cas suddenly, brutally, so hard it might leave a bruise, yet all Cas wants is for him to do it again. “Or are you anyone’s?”

 

Dean ducks his head under Cas’s chin, biting at his neck, sucking a mark there immediately, as though he scared himself with his own question and needs visual proof that Cas is his.

 

“Yours, Dean.” Cas chokes out as Dean leaves the mark. He rakes his fingers down the back of Dean’s neck. “I’m yours.”

 

“That’s right, Cas.” Dean says firmly, resurfacing, his eyes penetrating into Cas’s again. “Mine. Did you forget what it feels like, huh, to be fucked by me? Were you too distracted by how good it felt to fuck a piece of plastic?”

 

Cas shakes his head, desperately trying to persuade Dean that this is not the case, but Dean is apparently merciless suddenly, lost down this new path of punishment for using the plug. Cas feels the sudden loss more than anything, followed by the sharp sting of the force by which Dean ripped the plug out, throwing it aside so it skids across the tile.

 

“Maybe I need to remind you, huh?” Dean asks, probably rhetorically Cas reasons.

 

Dean reaches for Cas’s hand, and for a second Cas thinks maybe he wants to hold it, but instead Dean rips the lube from his grasp. Somehow, with a vast amount of skill that Cas is too high on adrenaline to comprehend, Dean manages to squirt a fair amount of the cherry smelling goo into his palm, and simultaneously shimmy his shorts down his legs into a puddle around his ankles.

 

Dean slathers the lube onto his dick in record time, shoving two fingers inside of Cas straight after, making them both curse loudly.

 

“Damn, angel.” Is all Dean says, and then he’s shifting their positions with his crazy strength that only drives Cas more wild.

 

He lets himself be manhandled, adjusted until Dean is lined up perfectly, gripping Dean’s shoulders for support as Dean presses him back into the lockers again.

 

“Whose are you, baby?” Dean asks, and Cas groans in frustration, squirming in Dean’s hold, wanting Dean to hurry up, feeling the length of him snugly fitted between his cheeks.

 

He won’t get what he wants unless he answers though, he knows that. His mind reels for the answer as it always does, even though it is probably the most straightforward question Cas could be asked.

 

Whose is he? Well, he certainly isn’t anyone else’s. There’s only one person driving up the fucking wall. …Literally.

 

“Yours, Dean.”

 

Dean kisses him roughly, messily, and drives himself in, with a fair amount of force because he knows Cas is well-prepped. Cas cries out, fingernails digging into Dean’s shoulders, even through the jersey he’s still wearing. Even with the help of the plug he can feel his muscles contracting to accommodate Dean’s size.

 

It’s warm, hot even, a sensation like coming home, like completeness. Dean presses in hard, swearing under his breath as he bottoms out, kissing Cas again and telling him he’s a fucking angel, truly.

 

“How’s it compare, Cas?” Dean asks breathlessly, stilling for a moment, fully sheathed inside of Cas. “Better than your toy?”

 

Now, Cas isn’t exactly proud of the thought process that flits haphazardly into his brain at this moment, but then again, he sort of is.

 

He doesn’t want to be disobedient exactly, doesn’t want to disappoint or anger Dean in any way whatsoever, but on the other hand… he’s been dreaming of this scenario for a long fucking time. Dean taking him right here, up against the lockers, it’s a fantasy of his, Cas will admit it. But in every one of the scenarios he’s dreamed up, Dean has been more… well.

 

To put it bluntly, Cas wants to be fucked hard.

 

He wants Dean to pin him here and plough into him, for the lockers to rattle and shake, to feel the after effects for days after and just remember it. He shudders at the idea.

 

In order for this to happen, Cas feels like he needs to play up. Just a little bit. Just enough to get Dean a little more worked up than he is right now.

 

Okay, so it’s a little bit devious perhaps, but how else is he supposed to get this fantasy perfect?

 

He is Gabriel’s brother after all.

 

Dean is staring at him, waiting for his response, still fully inside of him. He cocks a brow, a look of impatience starting to cloud his features. “Well?”

 

“I-I, uh, can’t quite remember.” Castiel manages to say, trying not to let the terror at speaking these words show on his face. “The toy is… very good…”

 

Dean’s mouth falls open, then snaps shut. Cas watches the muscle in his jaw twitch as Dean clenches his teeth, and swallows. Oh God, what has he done. Dean looks as mad as Cas has ever seen him, furious even. 

 

“Oh, is that right.” Dean says, and it definitely doesn’t sound like a question. Dean’s eyes have grown dark, the grip he has on Cas’s hips has hardened – if Dean doesn’t let go soon, Cas will definitely have bruises there. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to remind you, huh?”

 

Cas braces himself, and Dean draws his hips back, pulling out of Cas almost all the way. There’s no way to prepare for the sensation of Dean slamming back in, the slick, burning heat of it, the immense pressure against his prostate so suddenly. Then, before Cas has a chance to recover, Dean does it again.

 

Just like that, Dean’s pace is set up. He doesn’t build up, doesn’t vary his technique, there’s no need. Dean has done this to Cas enough times by now to know exactly how to make him fall apart. He knows how to angle his deep, sharp thrusts so that white hot pleasure bursts through the younger boy time and again, drawing shouts and cries from his thoroughly bitten lips.

 

Dean knows to bite at Cas’s pulse when he tilts his head back so that he jerks in Dean’s arms, the shock of it ricocheting through him as Dean nails him to the trembling metal again and again.

 

Cas is helpless, tears welling in his eyes as Dean plays him like the master of a familiar instrument, knowing every place on Cas’s body that Cas was sure he hadn’t noticed made him squirm. Dean bites at his earlobes, and Cas actually mewls, pushing Dean’s face away with his hands because he can’t stand the sensations, they’re too much, all at once.

 

Dean’s pace doesn’t slow for a second, and though there’s pain – some from his back slamming into the locker behind him, and some from the sheer force with which Dean is fucking him – the pleasure is so much greater; it’s all Cas can do to wrap his thighs around Dean’s waist as tight as he can, to let Dean’s tongue plunder his mouth whenever he wants, to allow Dean’s fingers to trace his every weak spot.

 

This is so incredibly hot, Cas thinks dazedly, but also so unfair. He can’t even think straight for long enough to locate any of the especially sensitive places he would know on Dean’s body were he in his right mind. Nor could he reach them, given with how completely Dean has him pinned in this position.

 

“There y’are, my little slut.” Dean practically hisses into Cas’s ear, biting at the lobe again so that Cas’s cock leaks uncontrollably, not that Dean is going anywhere near it with his hands. “This enough of a reminder, huh? Still gonna say that fuckin’ piece o’plastic is better than this? Better than me?”

 

“N-n-no,” Cas manages to say, just about, his face utterly desperate he’s sure. He looks into Dean’s eyes, marvelling at how far the older boy’s pupils are diluted. “Nothing is b-better.”

 

“Uh huh,” Dean affirms, running his fingers teasingly along the length of Cas’s aching shaft. “And what do you think, Cas, do you deserve to come after questionin’ that?”

 

“Fuck,” Cas says, filled with despair. Is Dean not gonna let him come? Oh God, he’s about to die from overstimulation, fuck. “I’m sorry Dean, I didn’t mean it, I- fuck!”

 

Dean squeezes his cock in his grasp, cutting him off pretty effectively. “Not sure I believe you, Cas.” Dean lets go of the length of him, pressing them together more firmly so that it’s easier to thrust inside.

 

“Fuck, Dean I’ll do anything.” Cas cries, desperate. “I’ll never use it again, I swear. I’ll wear the cheerleading outfit, I’ll suck you off in class, anything- please, please I have to-”

 

Dean cuts him off with a laughing kiss, and all Cas can think is that he’s glad Dean is enjoying himself because he himself is fucking _dying._

“Anythin’ for my angel.” Dean murmurs into Cas’s mouth, and then there’s a hand, still slippery with lube clasping Cas’s erection.

 

Cas almost wants to cry with the feel of it. Dean jerks him in time with his forceful thrusts, twisting his wrist slightly, just that way Cas likes and-

 

“Oh my God, fuck, fuck- _FUCK,_ Dean, oh-”

 

Dean doesn’t slow down for a moment, doesn’t even falter as Cas comes all over him, hot, white spurts shooting out of him for what seems like hours while Cas is wracked with spasms, tears leaking from his eyes.

 

Cas enters a different plane of existence, he’s sure. He sees other worlds as he rides through his orgasms, and he’s pretty sure there was more than one. He dances in other galaxies, feels himself burst into millions of atoms and have each one stroked by Dean's incredible fingers. He can't breathe, can't think, definitely can't move except to just moan and writhe as Dean holds him there, his anchor. 

 

When he finally re-enters the earthly plane, Dean has slowed his pace, but he’s still inside of Cas, thrusting deeply, face contorted with the immense concentration of not coming just yet.

 

Castiel shakily reaches for his face, bringing them eye to eye. “Come, baby.”

 

Dean bites his lip at the words, or maybe the feel of Cas’s hands stroking over his neck, his shoulders, down to his waist. He thrusts in again, Cas gasping because, wow, that is sensitive, but he clamps down, thrusting back against Dean, and it works. Dean just lets go, flooding Cas with a shout, eyes shut, a fist pounding once against the hollow locker by Cas’s shoulder.

 

“Fuck, _damn_ it Cas.” Dean cries, and thrusts in one last time, making Cas cry out too. Fuck, Dean is so incredibly beautiful when he falls apart.

 

“Unnnngh.” Dean groans, eyes still closed against the sensations flooding his body, and Cas runs hands through his hair, understanding completely.

 

A short while later, Dean pulls out, with such care and gentleness that Cas almost likens this Dean and the one fucking him not minutes ago as two entirely different people.

 

He sets Cas down gently, depositing him on the floor, seated against the lockers, and then, once satisfied that Cas is relatively comfortable, he sits down beside him.

 

“We should, so, _so_ shower.” Dean says after a while, still looking a little out of breath.

 

“Agreed.” Cas says, head lolling onto Dean’s shoulder, his hand travelling cheekily underneath the hem of his jersey.

 

Dean places a kiss to the top of Cas’s head. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Cas smiles dopily up at him. “Gonna feel that one for a while I’m sure.”

 

Dean grins at him. “You asked for it. Weirdo.”

 

Cas wants to argue, but technically he got exactly what he wanted out of the situation, and even if he didn’t spell it out for Dean, the guy is pretty intuitive. He probably read Cas’s mind, sensed what he wanted and did as asked.

 

“You know that plug doesn’t even remotely compare to this, right?” Cas asks, just to make sure Dean really knows.

 

Dean laughs. “Good to know, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of Cas’s head again. “Even so…" Dean laughs, a little forcedly. "That thing’s gotta go.”

 

Cas looks up at him, smiling, and then sees a serious expression on Dean’s face. He raises his eyebrows, shocked. “What, really?”

 

“Don’t question me, Cas. I'm fuckin' burning that thing.”

 

Cas shrugs, smiling to himself at Dean's slightly messed up but also incredibly hot jealous behaviour. He places his head back on Dean’s shoulder, sighing with contentment. “So, shower?”

 

“Totally. You’ll like the showers here. They’re… _communal_.”

 

There’s definitely a suggestion in that comment, and Cas hopes Dean knows just how utterly wrung out he is right now. He feels raw, like a vigorously used toothbrush. On second thought, Cas thinks to himself, maybe the vibrator Dean bought him would be a better analogy. The only difference is that in a few hours Cas will be craving Dean yet again, because this never fucking ends, not that he's complaining. 

 

Still though, the sight of Dean naked, wet, showering... that's always something to enjoy, regardless of how he feels. He's very excited about the showers. 

 

“Oh, by the way,” Dean says suddenly, and Cas detects a note of nervousness in his voice, “I keep forgettin’ to tell you, uh, Sam’s comin’ up to stay.”

 

Dean’s fingers have started twirling the tendrils of Cas’s hair, a nervous habit that betrays Dean’s emotions, Cas has noticed over time.

 

Cas is silent for a moment. “Cool! I’ll finally meet him.”

 

He can practically hear Dean’s smile pierce the air, breaking through the nerves. “Yeah, you’re gonna like him a lot. He’s super nerdy like you.”

 

Cas slaps him on the thigh. “You’re not allowed to call me a nerd.”

 

“Actually I think it’s my right as your boyfriend to do just that.” Dean replies, and Cas can tell he’s grinning.

 

“No, it’s your right as my boyfriend to do what you just did to me.” A sharp flare of arousal sparks through Cas’s body at the reminder of what just happened, and from the sound of Dean’s sharp intake of breath, he had a similar reaction. “…What were you saying? About Sam?”

 

“Right, uh,” Dean says, seemingly distracted. “Yeah, he wants to see what Frat life is like, seein’ as he’s gonna be pledgin’ Psi Delta Alpha next year. It’ll be good for him too, cause my Dad… you know.”

 

“Yeah, of course.” Cas says. “Hasn’t he got school?”

 

“He’s on a break.”

 

“Ah.” Cas replies. “Well I think it’ll be awesome. I can’t wait to put a face to all the stories you’ve told me about him.”

 

There’s an audible pause then, and Cas is worried. Perhaps he said the wrong thing? He seems to have a knack for doing that. When he lifts his head to look at Dean however, all he sees is Dean’s soft, beaming smile.

 

“You’re perfect, do you know that?” Dean asks, and before Cas can even think to blush, Dean is kissing him, which – yeah, is a pretty nice distraction.

 

Showers come a bit later on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Sammy Winchester!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: recreational drug use (weed)

“I heard Anna’s party was lame, anyway.” Dean’s voice says through the phone, a smile clearly audible through his words.

 

Cas smiles too, remembering how he and Dean had spent Sunday evening instead of going to Anna’s party. Castiel, as it happens, has actually just received an enthusiastic and detailed account of Anna’s – _freaking legendary_ – party from his brother over the phone, but he agrees with Dean nonetheless.

 

“Totally. Her party had nothing on ours.” Cas replies, and Dean chuckles.

 

“Remember the part where I laid you down on all that laundry on your bed and-”

 

“Winchester!” A gruff, distant voice cuts Dean off. “I ain’t payin’ you to stand around yabberin’ on your cell. Get back to work.”

 

A sigh, from both ends of the phone. “Gotta go, angel.”

 

“I figured.” Castiel replies. “This conversation isn’t over.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sugar.” Dean pauses. “So, you know I’m pickin’ up Sam later?”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes and smiles. Dean hasn’t shut up about this in fact. “Yes, I think I remember.”

 

“Cool.” Dean pauses again, and Cas can hear him swallowing. It shouldn’t be sexy, but it totally is. “So I guess we’ll see you later then.”

 

“Looking forward to it.” Cas assures him, making sure he sounds enthusiastic. Dean laughs again; he sounds fond. “Get back to work, lazy.”

 

“You’re gonna pay for that one.” Dean growls, and it sends shivers down Cas’s spine. “Love you.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

* * *

 

 

In all honesty, Cas is fretting slightly. On Sunday, when Dean had oh-so-casually mentioned Sam coming to stay in the near future, Cas had assumed he meant in a week or so. At the very least a week.

 

Cas thinks it’s relatively normal to give a week’s notice for this kind of thing. He hadn’t expected Sam’s arrival to occur that same  _Tuesday._ It’s not that Cas isn’t excited about meeting Dean’s little brother, it’s just he feels he needs some time to prepare.

 

This boy is the light of Dean’s life, has been his sole motivation for seventeen years. He’s the kid that makes Dean’s eyes crinkle and soften at the mere mention of his name. He’s the kid that Dean loves more than anything else in the entire world, would undoubtedly give up his life for.

 

And Cas is… well. Cas is basically the reason Dean isn’t around as much anymore. He’s the gooey-eyed idiot pulling Dean’s attention away from Sam, where it’s been for as long as Sam has existed.

 

Castiel, at the end of the day, he thinks to himself, is just a slightly pathetic, naïve Freshman, stupidly head over heels with a guy far older and cooler than he, and to top it off, only a year older than Sam himself. Why would Sam respect or even tolerate anyone like that?

 

Cas knows deep down that these thoughts are a tad melodramatic. Sam’s probably not going to accuse Cas on sight of stealing his brother from him, in fact, from what Gabriel has told him, Sam seems very enthusiastic about the idea of Cas in Dean’s life. He’d even said, apparently, that Cas sounds like he’s good for Dean, that this relationship is the best thing that’s happened to the older Winchester in a while.

 

It doesn’t exactly keep the nerves at bay though. Irrational fear is just that – irrational.

 

Cas is sure he will like Sam. He just hopes Sam likes him too.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean sees his hair before he sees anything else. The kid’s grown it out way too long, it looks fucking ridiculous. He’s not exactly difficult to spot anyway, being tall and gangly like he is, still growing into his body – all long, swaying limbs and awkward hunching.

 

Dean watches him for a moment, leaned on his car, just grinning at the sight of his little brother, here, finally. Sam’s brow is creased, and he searches the people milling around the train station with the concentration of a nuclear physician working on the atomic bomb.

 

He wears a huge, tattered backpack and one of Dean’s old t-shirts, which hangs strangely on him, far too big and stretched out from use. It looks cool though, Dean will admit, in a kind of nineties, grunge way. Dean would like to think that this is Sam finding his own personal style, but in reality he knows it’s just that John wouldn’t have given Sam money to buy clothes at any point during his recent growth spurt, or even notice the spurt for that matter.

 

Dean curses himself for overlooking that. He needs to be more on the ball. Sam needs clothes that aren’t just Dean’s old hand-me-down’s. He resolves to take the kid shopping while he’s here.

 

He starts to walk over then, being sneaky about it because he wants to make his little brother jump, so sue him. He manages to get behind him somehow, using a redheaded lady in a business suit as a human shield.

 

“Gotcha!” Dean shouts, digging his fingers into Sammy’s ribs and tickling.

 

Sam yelps hilariously, spinning round at once and spasming as Dean gets him. “I _hate_ you.”

 

This statement has some of the punch taken out of it by the fact that Sam’s arms immediately wrap around Dean’s waist, squeezing tightly. Dean laughs, hugging him back, and then there are two hazel eyes staring up at him. Almost level with him actually. God, Sam is getting way too tall way too fast.

 

Belatedly, Dean realises Sam is grinning.

 

“I can’t believe I’m here!” Sam squeals excitedly, then rears back from Dean and punches him playfully in the stomach. Dean raises his eyebrow, laughing as Sam rubs his fist, mouthing ‘ow’. “You gotta show me all about Frat life, Dean. I’m so ready, I can chug a beer y’know, I’ve been practicing.”

 

“What?!” Dean can’t help but exclaim. “I hope you’ve been practicing with lemonade. I’m not corruptin’ you just yet, Sammy.”

 

“Aw, come on, Dean.” Sam whines, and Dean rolls his eyes for what he suspects will be the first of a few hundred times during this visit. “Like you were such a good seventeen year old! I remember, Dean, you used to sneak out with Benny and pay the drunk guys outside the 7/11 to buy you beer!”

 

Dean assumes a sombre expression, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “That, little brother, is because I was lost, a wayward child.” Sam scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “It was my cry for help, truly. Luckily, you have a responsible older brother to watch out for you.” Sam scowls at him, his expression shouting ‘bullshit’. Dean must admit, of all the adjectives he or anyone that knows him might use to describe himself, 'responsible' would probably not be high up on the list. Whatever, Sam doesn't need to know that. “Now get in the car, short stop.”

 

Sam sighs, hitching his backpack up his back and starting towards the Impala. Dean knees him in the behind as he goes, chuckling at the dirty look Sam sends him, and then laughing harder when Sam tries to get in the front seat, enormous backpack still on.

 

“Did I already say I hate you?” Sam asks as Dean slides into the driver’s side, still chortling.

 

“Love you too, kiddo.”

 

* * *

 

 

Cas opens the door to the Frat without much hesitation, these days. He strides through the entrance hall with purpose, taking the stairs two at a time because he’s not a scaredy cat anymore. He’s not. Well. Maybe Gordon still scares him a little.

 

But most of the guys are okay, if terrifyingly strong looking. His nerves are bubbling away inside of him, making his stomach churn uncomfortably. He can't get the thought of meeting Sam out of his brain. He's convinced himself it's going to be a disaster. He needs something to calm him down. Which is why, perhaps against his better judgement, he's going to speak to his brother about the dilemma. 

 

He sighs when he gets to the top of the landing, unable to believe he  _still_ doesn't have someone else to talk to about this stuff. Gabriel is just not the ideal person to have around in a crisis. 

 

He opens the door to Gabriel’s room without knocking, and okay, that’s always a mistake – he really should have known better than that. The first thing he realises is that everything is vaguely hazy, like looking at things through smudged glasses.

 

The smell hits him next, and he is struck motionless with the force of it, feeling it cloud his nostrils, unmistakeable as it always is to define.

 

Pot.

 

“Heyyyy, look it’s Cassy!” Gabriel cries from his bed, lifting his face out an enormous, crudely shaped bong long enough to grin at his little brother. Cas's eyes widen, cheeks pinkening as he realises what is happening. Belatedly, Cas realises Gabriel is not alone, and that there are two other figures on the bed either side of him. “Guys, guys,” Gabriel chuckles, “it’s my nerdy li’l bro! Come say hey, bro!”

 

“Hey!” The girl to the right of Gabriel says.

 

Castiel has to blink at her a few times, because she’s definitely not the type of female Castiel has seen hanging around his idiotic brother ever before. She’s got the ‘geek chic’ look down, in precariously ripped jeans and a faded t-shirt with the word ‘Firefly’ emblazoned across it to Castiel’s bewilderment, in glowing gold letters. Her long red hair completes the look, effortlessly tousled and, in Cas’s opinion, intimidatingly cool.

 

“Charlie.” The girl says, and Cas assumes this is her name. “Cassy, is it?”

 

“Uh, Castiel.” Cas corrects. “Or Cas.”

 

“Ugh.” Gabriel says in response to this. “Don’t call him that. That’s what his bonehead _boyfriend_ calls him. Probably mid-coitus.”

 

“Gabe!” Castiel scolds him, scandalised. These people have literally just met him.

 

“Ah, I see you’re not into heteronormativity either, my friend!” Charlie cries, holding one of her hands (the other holds a spliff), into the air, palm outstretched. Castiel blinks at it, uncomprehending. She giggles. “High five, dude!”

 

Castiel gives her one, tentative, but smiling. She grins back, clearly loving his awkwardness. No wonder she and Gabriel are friends.

 

“Dude, close the door man.” The other figure says, finally joining in the conversation. Castiel squints at him through the haze. “Gordon’s gonna rat on us if he catches Gabe smokin’ in his room again.”

 

“Oh, uh, sorry.” Castiel says, reluctantly shutting the door, sealing himself inside with all the smoke. He pauses for a second though, wondering if the person that Gordon would 'rat' to would be Dean? “Sorry, I didn’t catch your…?”

 

“The name’s Garth, friend.” Garth says, saluting him from where he’s slumped against the back wall behind Gabe’s bed. “Current Psi Delta Alpha brother, soon to be President of this Fraternity.”

 

Gabriel snorts loudly, which sends Charlie into cackles of laughter. Castiel decides to perch awkwardly on Gabriel’s desk chair.

 

“You wish, man.” Gabriel says in response to Garth, laughing again. “You know Dean-o is the one to pick the next Alpha right?”

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

“So, why’s he gonna pick you?!” Gabriel asks, then dissolves into giggles again; Charlie has begun staring at the backs of her hands in awe.

 

“I take offence to that.” Garth says, annoyed. “I’d make a great Alpha!”

 

“How come I’ve never seen you around the Frat before?” Castiel asks Garth, still marvelling over the fact that this tall, lanky bundle of bones could ever be a Psi Delta Alpha brother. He guesses this Frat is less exclusive than he thought. Kudos to them. “Are you a Freshman?”

 

Garth chuckles, taking Charlie’s proffered joint and dragging on it. “Heck no. You think your man would be okay with Gabe here lettin’ me chill in his room if I were a Pledge?”

 

Castiel ponders this, thinking back to all the times Dean has yelled at the Pledges, how he treats them. Yeah, Dean probably wouldn't be too pleased about Pledges getting stoned when they could be scrubbing the toilets with their toothbrushes or whatever. 

 

“So then, why?” Cas asks. 

 

It’s Charlie who pipes up this time, her voice strange because she’s holding a lungful of smoke back. “Garth’s always sick.” She exhales in a long silvery stream. “He’s like permanently absent, always got some malady or other.”

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Castiel says sincerely to Garth, but Garth actually laughs, batting him away.

 

“Don’t be, man.” Garth assures him. “You see this shit?” He holds up his spliff like a trophy. “They give me this for _free_ man. Prescription!”

 

“We used to joke that he’d contract a mysterious illness every time the full moon rolled around.” Charlie laughs, leaning across Gabe to shove Garth playfully in the shoulder.

 

He growls back at her, snarling, baring his teeth, playing along. She laughs and gets up on her knees, her fingers becoming claws as they growl back and forth.

 

“Enough!” Gabe shouts. “I can’t inhale with you fuckers doggy styling in my ear.”

 

“Ew,” Charlie says, wrinkling her nose. “I so do _not_ swing that way, sorry Garth.” She pauses, taking a drag of her spliff. She leans forwards again, towards Gabriel, grinning suddenly. “Gabe, where’d you hide all your candy?” She stage whispers into Gabriel’s ear, and Gabe rolls his eyes, sliding off the bed. On his way to the drawers in the desk, he thrusts the bong in his hands into Cas’s lap.

 

“Go ahead, li’l bro.” Gabriel says to Cas, grinning away. “Try it.”

 

Castiel gulps. This is one of those situations his mother warned him to look out for in college. According to her, he shouldn’t give into the peer pressure.

 

He looks down at the bong in his hands, looking for all the world like an alien contraption. He hasn’t the first clue how to work it. What would the weed do to him, he wonders. He’s heard it can make you paranoid, but these guys don’t look particularly worried. In fact, they look the opposite of worried.

 

Cas enjoys being chilled out as much as anyone. And Gabe is always telling him to relax. It might even help with his current nerves about the Sam situation, he thinks. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt? After all, technically weed is the safest drug he could try. Weed doesn’t kill you, after all.

 

“How do I…?” Castiel asks at length, and Gabriel’s eyes widen in surprise. His brother splutters with surprise. 

 

“Oh my God! You’re actually up for it? No way!” Gabe is practically jumping on the spot with excitement.

 

He turns and throws some packets of sweets at Charlie, who catches them all with surprising ease, tearing into them at once.

 

“Okay, bro.” Gabe turns back to him, kneeling down beside the office chair. “Here’s what you gotta do. Put your finger over this little hole here, that’s it.”

 

Castiel does as told, obediently, brow creased in concentration because he wants to get this right, doesn’t want to make a fool of himself. Charlie and Garth look on, amused, grins plastered on their faces, their lids heavy.

 

“Okay, now put your mouth here, and when I light the bowl, suck until all the smoke comes in here, alright?” Gabriel tells him, and again, Castiel listens carefully, not wanting to miss a step. “Then, when you’re ready, take your finger off the hole, and inhale.”

 

“O…kay.” Castiel says, his heart picking up speed now. Gabriel grins at him, which oddly enough is actually reassuring.

 

“Okay, get ready then.”

 

Cas does as he was told, puts his finger on the hole and his mouth on the tubey part, and Gabriel wastes no time. Cas wonders if his brother is worried he’s going to chicken out. He wouldn’t blame the guy, honestly. Gabriel holds his lighter up to the part with the pot in it, and Castiel starts to inhale.

 

The bong bubbles ominously, and Cas shoots Gabe a worried look, but Gabe just continues grinning, and then Castiel can’t inhale anymore, so he exhales through his nose and takes his finger off the hole.

 

“Okay, now take a deep breath in!” Gabriel cries, and Cas does, feeling his eyes water a little as the smoke pours down his throat. “Hold it! Keep holdin’ it!” Castiel’s eyes are stinging by now, threatening to spill over any second, he can’t possibly keep it in any longer. He coughs as he exhales, spluttering slightly, Gabriel laughing uproariously as he bats away the smoke. “Yeah, go Cassy!”

 

The words seem distant, far off somehow. Gabriel’s voice is a chiming church bell. All Cas can hear is the sound of his own heartbeat, thrumming steadily, reassuring in its regularity. He glances at the faces of Garth and Charlie, watching their teeth gleam as they laugh, though their laughter again seems almost silent.

 

“Cassy?” Gabriel is asking, Cas realises belatedly, and swivels to face his brother again. “You okay, bro?”

 

“I’m…” Cas says, finding words fit oddly in his mouth, don’t quite stretch around his tongue like they ought. “I’m… so good.”

 

“How do you feel, Cassy?” Gabriel asks, and there’s a bubble of laughter hidden in his question, Cas can almost feel it. He wishes he could pop it with his bare hands.

 

“Am I dreaming?” Cas asks seriously, getting very close to his brother’s face. He needs to see the reflection of his own face in Gabe’s eyes. Then he’ll know. “Where’s Dean?”

 

As soon as the question is out of his mouth, Cas feels the pang of yearning for Dean, so familiar to him now, though no less prominent.

 

“Oh, Alpha will be back for you soon, I’m sure.” Garth says, and Cas pouts, but accepts this. “I like you, Cas. You’re a funny little dude.”

 

For some reason, everything about this statement is utterly hilarious, and Cas bends over double laughing. “You guys,” Cas says through his tears of laughter, “you guys are like my best friends.”

 

This sends everyone into fits of laughter, not just Cas, and right then, Cas feels his phone vibrating against his hip. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Alpha!”

 

“…Uh, Cas?” Dean’s voice is like hot butter, rich and salty, thickly pouring through the phone into Cas’s ear. Cas shivers, biting his lip.

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“You okay?” Dean asks, a touch of concern in his voice, though Cas can’t fathom why.

 

He’s seated on Gabe’s bed now, Gabe is beside him with his laptop open, the webcam up on screen. Cas can see his own face in the computer and it's amazing. Charlie is currently demonstrating what it would look like if Cas had her hair. The results are effective, if a little disconcerting.

 

“I’m _great_ , Dean. Are you coming home soon?”

 

“Um, later yeah.” Dean says, sounding confused. “At the moment I’m at the Roadhouse. With Sam.”

 

Shit! Castiel’s eyes widen and he slaps a hand over his mouth. He completely forgot. How could he do such a thing? Sam!

 

“I’m so sorry!” Castiel tries to say, but finds his words are muffled by his own hand.

 

“What?” Dean asks, but clearly is too impatient to listen. “Cas, are you like half-asleep or somethin’? I just wanted to know if you wanna come to the Roadhouse now and meet us.”

 

Castiel remembers to let his hand fall away this time. “That sounds excellent.”

 

“Right. So that’s a yes then?”

 

“Dean, my incredible, wonderful, gorgeous slice of Heaven pie.” Castiel says, straight faced. “I solemnly promise. I will be there.”

 

“I… what the Hell am I supposed to say to that?” Dean asks, clearly bewildered.

 

“Tell me you love me and that you’ll see me soon.”

 

To Castiel’s later relief, at this point Dean chuckles. “I love you, I’ll see you real soon, angel.”

 

Castiel hangs up the phone, grinning. “I have to go!”

 

“What?” Charlie cries, sounding extremely upset all of a sudden. She clutches Cas’s arm. “No! Stay here, it’s warm.”

 

Gabriel rolls his eyes, pouting at the camera and taking three moody photos in a row. “He won’t stay, his bae is calling.”

 

“Awww,” Cas says, leaning over and pinching his brother’s cheeks. He gets a headlock for his trouble of course. “Don’t be jealous, Gabe. I love you too.”

 

“I hope that’s in an entirely different way.” Garth butts in, and Cas laughs delightedly.

 

“Thank you all for your company, I have had a tremendous time.” Castiel announces, sliding out of Gabe’s grip and off the bed.

 

“To be fair, Cassy, this is the most fun you’ve been in a long time.” Gabriel says, and Castiel throws a packet of candy at his head. “Ow! I’m kidding! But seriously, you should think about becoming a full-time hippy stoner, it suits you.”

 

“Totally.” Charlie agrees, despite having known him practically five minutes.

 

“Oh!” Cas suddenly remembers, holding a finger high in the air. “I forgot what I came in here for, Gabe. Sam’s come up to stay.”

 

Gabriel sits bolt upright suddenly, and it’s only Charlie’s remarkably quick reflexes that stop the laptop on his knees from sliding to the ground. “Sam? As in… Sam Winchester?”

 

“Yeah!” Castiel says, smiling. “You’re friends with him, right? I thought you’d wanna know.”

 

“Is he…” Gabriel swallows. “Staying here? At the Frat house?”

 

“Duh.” Cas says. “Where else?”

 

“Damn it, people!” Gabriel shouts suddenly, seemingly to no one in particularly. “I need more time to prepare!”

 

“Tell me about it.” Cas sighs, and with a wave, he wanders to the door, and enters the significantly less hazy outdoor world. “Bye!”

 

* * *

 

 

It takes Cas a little longer than usual to make it to the Roadhouse. Everything seems so much more distracting today. Colours seem more vivid, shapes seem more three-dimensional. At least three times on the way Cas catches himself stopping and staring at people, things, places.

 

Each time he reminds himself that Dean is waiting for him, and it’s enough to spur him onwards, just. Eventually, after an unknown period of time, Cas makes it to the restaurant. He’s already smiling dopily as he pushes through the double doors. Dean. He gets to see Dean now.

 

Cas doesn’t need to deliberate about where Dean and Sam might be seated of course. Everyone in the whole campus knows which is Dean’s regular table in this place, including Cas. He makes his way over, eyes catching with various people he vaguely recognises – some people from Dean’s Frat, some that he’s just spoken to at parties.

 

There’s one table that seem to scowl at him a little as he stumbles by, but then again, he might be imagining that. He doesn’t recognise any of them, so he pays it no mind. Finally, he gets to the booth he’s looking for.

 

Dean looks up at him, smiling, then his brow furrows. “Cas, you made it!”

 

Cas beams at him, leaning over immediately to plant a kiss on his lips. God, he’s so glad he can just do that now. It never gets old, truly. A few seconds pass however, and Dean makes a noise, pushing him away gently.

 

Cas stares at him confusedly, tilting his head at the sight of a blush on Dean’s cheeks. “Cas, this is uh,” Dean seems to be fumbling for his words – very unusual. “This is Sam.”

 

Cas’s eyes widen. Fuck! He did it again, he forgot. He whips his head round to the seat opposite Dean, taking in the sight of a gangly, shaggy haired teen, grinning away at them both as though he’s won some kind of prize.

 

“Sam!” Cas exclaims, stretching out his arms. He doesn’t quite know what he intends to do at that point, but he seems not to be entirely in control of his limbs anymore, so finds himself reaching over the table and embracing the younger Winchester as best he can. It’s awkward and strained to say the least, though Sam does his best to return the hug. “I’m so glad to meet you. You don’t really look like Dean.”

 

Cas sits down then, beside Dean, who is staring at him as though he were an alien for some reason. Cas just beams back, hoping that will put his mind at ease.

 

“Well, that’s a relief.” Sam says, laughing, and Cas notes that he and Dean are both clutching bottles of beer.

 

“Shut up.” Dean tells Sam offhandedly, then goes back to staring at Cas. Cas doesn’t mind, he stares right back, propping up his head with his hand and gazing into Dean’s eyes. He has incredible eyes. So vividly green. “Cas?” Dean waves a hand in front of his face, and Cas waves back, amused. “Cas, are you… are you _stoned?_ ”

 

“What?!” Cas cries, affronted by the accusation, and then an incredible smell wafts by. He whips his head round just in time to see Jo carrying a tray holding two baskets of gleaming, golden french fries. “Oh my God, Dean, can we get fries? I am _so_ hungry.”

 

Dean barks a laugh at him. “Wow.” Sam stares at Cas, amazed. “Wow, Cas, nice timing, really. Did Gabriel make you do this? I fuckin’ knew that little turd was still smokin’ in his room.”

 

“It’s really great, Dean.” Castiel says, smiling happily and closing his eyes. “I feel great.” He opens his eyes, and finds both Winchesters staring at him, on the brink of laughter. “Hey, we should do more! I bet Gabe and Charlie and Garth are still there! You guys will love it!”

 

Cas is already getting out of his seat, ready for another bong hit or three, but Dean grabs hold of his arm, coaxing him back down. Really, with Dean’s face all fluttering lashes and sweet smiles, it doesn’t take much convincing.

 

“Hey, hey now.” Dean says gently, pulling Cas closer. “Stay here with us, alright? Sammy’s not doin’ drugs under my watch.”

 

“Dean!” Sam whines, but Dean shushes him, putting a hand to Cas’s cheek. He nuzzles into it like a cat.

 

“Jeez, Cas, did they peer pressure you into this?” Dean asks, and Cas pouts at him. “I wouldn’t have had you down as a pothead.”

 

“No.” Cas replies snappily. “I just wanted to be relaxed.”

 

“Is this the first time he’s done this?” Sam asks, a giggle in his voice. “Man, that’s so funny.”

 

“I’ll have you know Sam Winchester, I am actually very sensible and smart.” Cas replies, smirking because, yeah, that’ll tell the kid, but instead, he and Dean just fall about laughing.

 

Why is everything Cas says funny right now?

 

“Just relax, Cas.” Dean says after a while, drawing Cas under his arm, which is actually extremely comfortable, even if Cas is still a little bit annoyed with them. “The fuzziness will pass.” Dean sighs. “What a great first impression this has been, huh?”

 

Cas goes to answer Dean’s question, but it appears it wasn’t directed at him. Sam replies instead.

 

“He’s awesome, Dean.”

 

Dean chuckles, peering down at Cas, who is finding himself very sleepy all of a sudden. It’s very warm and cosy nestled under Dean’s shoulder like this.

 

“Yeah, he’s not so bad.” Dean says, and that fondness is back in his voice again. “I painted such a goody-two-shoes picture of him though, didn’t I?”

 

“Oh, come on.” Sam says, rolling his eyes. “No one’s _that_ good. Heck, I’m not _that_ good.”

 

“Still, I’m gonna kill Gabriel.”

 

Cas is content just listening now, the sound of Dean’s heart pounding softly in his eardrum, the world spinning slightly even as his eyes slip closed.

 

“Aw, don’t do that.” Sam says, and suddenly things get very quiet.

 

“…Why?” Dean asks, suspicion in his tone.

 

“Because… because he’s Cas’s brother.” There’s something wrong. Sam’s voice has gained a squeaky quality. Almost like he’s nervous. “I mean, I don’t care. Obviously. Why would I? I don’t even know the guy.”

 

A pause. Castiel holds his breath for its duration.

 

“Sammy, how did you find out about me and Cas?”

 

A gulp.

 

“Um, Facebook?”

 

“I didn’t post anythin’ about him on Facebook.” Dean says carefully. “I was tryin’a keep him a secret, remember?”

 

“Yeah, so… other people’s Facebook’s?” Sam suggests. “I don’t remember, Dean, it was like months ago now.”

 

“You’re hidin’ somethin’, Sammy.”

 

“Am not!”

 

“If I get it outta you…”

 

Cas blinks awake then, sitting up, and the conversation seems to slide to a halt. The boys both look at him, wary, and Cas shoots them both smiles.

 

“I’m feeling a lot more sensible now.” Castiel assures them, and it seems like they can’t help but smile. Cas sighs. How will he ever convince them he’s no longer high? Well… Cas thinks he can tell that he _is_ still high, if the spinning room is anything to go by, but nevertheless. He turns to Dean, determined to change the subject. “How was work, Dean?”

 

Dean tenses up immediately, the smile dropping off his face. He glances at Sam, eyes wide, and Cas immediately knows he’s said something wrong.

 

“Work?” Sam asks, clearly confused. “What work?”

 

Dean swallows, shooting a glare at Cas. “Look, it’s not a big deal, alright?”

 

“You’re _working,_ now?” Sam cries, disbelieving. “What about your loan?”

 

“I need it for other stuff, Sam, alright?” Dean says, leaning forwards over the table so that he can speak in hushed tones. “I’m just workin’ at this auto repair shop a few streets over – my team’s coach owns the joint, I make a little extra money, it’s all good-”

 

“How long are your hours?” Sam demands, and Cas remembers asking the same worried questions when Dean had first picked up the part-time job. He’s been easily convinced it was all fine though. All Dean had to do was smile charmingly, kiss him long and slow… Cas doesn’t even remember the rest of the conversation if he’s honest. “What do you need all the money for, Dean?! Tell me this stuff!”

 

“Sam, will you keep your voice down?!” Dean hisses at him. “Coach Singer gave me this job on the down low, alright? Doesn’t want anyone else on the team knowin’. I need money for all kinds of shit, don’t worry about it, it’s under control!”

 

“But, Dean, what about your _education_?” Sam presses, and Cas wonders if he should have pressed the issue too, seeing how worked up Sam is about it. “Aren’t you supposed to be practicing all day?”

 

“Enough, Sam!” Dean cuts him off, slamming a hand on the table, making Cas jump. “Drop it. We’ll talk about this later. You just got here, for Christ’s sake, Cas is higher than a freakin’ kite, let’s just go home.”

 

Sam gives Dean a bitchface, the likes of which Cas has never seen. He makes an inadvertent whistling noise at the sight of it. Dean sighs at him, slings an arm round his shoulder again, and signals for the cheque.

 

* * *

 

 

Cas goes to the bathroom before they leave. He hadn't even realised how badly he needed to pee until he saw a waiter pouring beer into someone's glass. Dean had sighed at him but nodded, and Cas scarpered to the site of his and Dean's first sexual encounter, a grin on his face that he couldn't hide while he peed because it all seems so naughty, even now. 

 

In the mirror, as he washes his hands, he catches the eye of another guy. Clean cut, big piercing eyes and stubble. He looks like a jock, though Cas doesn't recognise him. Cas realises that the two of them are staring at each other. Before he looks away, the guy winks and smiles wickedly, aiming a pointed glance at his behind before he exits. 

 

When he exits the bathroom, he feels dirty. He feels like he's done something wrong, like he's betrayed Dean somehow, though he didn't do anything at all. That guy perving on him in the bathroom has sobered Cas up considerably, and he is silent as he obediently goes back to Dean's side. The three of them begin to head for the door, when suddenly, Sam trips, falling to the floor.

 

"Hey!" Dean shouts, and Cas looks up in alarm. He sees the source of Dean's anger immediately - a group of guys gathered around a table to their left, grinning and laughing at Sam's plight. Cas glances down, and one of them has their foot stuck out very obviously, clearly having been the one to trip Sam up. "Are you lookin' to get knocked out, Alaistair?" 

 

"Dean, I'm ok-" Sam says, getting up slowly, and Cas goes to help him. 

 

"Quiet, Sam." Dean snaps, still staring this Alaistair character in the eye. The guy just grins back, clearly not intimidated in the slightest. "This fucker should know better than to mess with anyone I even dare associate with, let alone my little brother."

 

"Ohhh," Alaistair says, casting an amused glance at the other guys gathered around the table. Castiel starts when he notices the guy from the bathroom in the midst of them all. He winks again; Cas feels bile rise in his throat, his cheeks burn. "So this is the infamous Winchester Junior? What an honour!"

 

Dean bends down then, bringing his and Alaistair's faces close. "You stay the fuck away from him, understand?"

 

"Does that apply to the hot little brunette?" The guy from the bathroom pipes up, and Cas's breath hitches. He glances at Dean, horrified. "Man, I'd take piece of ass as a trade in any day." 

 

Dean is quiet for a moment, straightening up and assessing this new guy. "Go ahead." Dean spits at him. "Try and touch 'im. See what happens." 

 

Castiel decides that's enough. He doesn't want to see Dean get in a fight over him, as hot as that would be - Jesus, it's bad enough that he even threatened that guy, Cas is going to be dreaming of that for weeks. He steps forwards, grabbing Dean's arm and tugging sharply. 

 

"Dean, let's go." He urges, and thankfully, Dean seems to listen. He turns, catching Cas's eye and nodding.

 

"Yeah, okay."

 

They turn back towards the door, and Cas prays that none of them shout anything as they exit. They've just pushed open the doors when the unmistakeable sound of a wolf-whistle fills the air. 

 

* * *

 

They trundle back to the Frat house in a light shower of rain, which does nothing to help the tense, bristling atmosphere that has settled between them all. The wind whips pellets of rain against Cas’s face, and it seems to ground him a little, thankfully, the last of his weed-induced haze slipping away.

 

"Who were those guys, Dean?" Sam asks, and Cas really wishes he hadn't. Not that he isn't curious how Dean knows Alaistair or why he's never mentioned him, or if he knows the guy Cas saw in the bathroom, but Dean is wound really tight. They don't need to push the issue. 

 

"Kappa Sigma." Dean says through gritted teeth. "The second biggest Frat on campus. Ours is the first. They hate our guts."

 

“So, where’s Sam gonna sleep?” Cas asks, trying desperately to divert the current pathway of conversation. 

 

Dean glances down at him, face dewy and glistening from the moisture. He sighs, seeming to let the Kappa Sigma thing go, for now. “I was gonna put him in with the Pledges. They have a big dorm to themselves.”

 

“Maybe one of them will actually _talk_ to me.” Sam mutters, and Cas knows that Dean wouldn’t have heard it over the roar of the wind.

 

He gulps, eyes flicking between the Winchesters nervously. This certainly was not what he was expecting.

 

* * *

 

 

“And this is the bathroom…” Dean is saying, a sigh in his voice as he pushes open the door on the top of the landing, revealing the somewhat grimy bathroom that the boys share. “There’s another toilet downstairs, but this is the only shower.”

 

“God, you guys really don’t like cleaning, huh?” Sam says, wrinkling his nose as he peers inside.

 

Dean swats him lightly in the shoulder. “Shut up, wait till it’s you that’s gotta scrub a tub that eighteen guys use daily.”

 

Dean ducks out of the bathroom and wanders down the hall, stopping outside a very familiar room. Cas’s heart sinks. Oh no.

 

“Okay, now Gabriel is my second in command, so if I’m not around and Cas isn’t around… I guess you should talk to him.” Dean says, sounding a little apprehensive about this suggestion, and rightly so, Cas thinks.

 

Dean knocks on the door, shooting Cas a glance that conveys his worry. Cas tries give him a reassuring look back, acting like he's sure it will all be fine. Although, to be fair, the last time he saw Gabriel, his nose was buried in a bong. Cas wonders if Charlie and Garth have cleared out of the room yet.

 

There’s some hurried scrambling sounds from inside, and Sam looks mildly scared, but also kind of excited. All at once, there is the distinct sound of music being switched on, and to Cas’s horror, he recognises the tune.

 

Marvin Gaye’s ‘Let’s Get it On’ filters through the door, unmistakeable and horrifyingly inappropriate. Dean looks at Cas, bewildered, and then the door swings open.

 

There stands Gabriel, and Castiel wants to shrivel up on the spot. Jesus, his brother is so embarrassing.

 

“Well hey, beautiful.” Gabriel says in smoky voice that Cas is certain he should never have heard. Gabe’s eyes are fixed on Sam, glinting with mischief.

 

He wears a burgundy and gold silk robe, something that Cas would never have believed was actually purchasable were he not seeing it before his own eyes. The robe is not completely tied either, revealing much of Gabriel’s chest, and the barest hint of his jet black boxers.

 

“Oh my God.” Castiel says, at a loss for any other reaction.

 

“Gabe, what the-” Dean starts to say, but then Sam is laughing, stretching out his arms, and Gabriel grins back.

 

“Gabe!” Sam cries, going straight in for a hug with Castiel’s ridiculous caricature of a sibling, and Dean just stares, mouth agape. “It’s so good to see you again!”

 

“What?!” Dean cries. “When did you meet?”

 

Sam releases Gabriel with difficulty, mainly because Gabriel isn’t letting go. Castiel pretends not to notice his brother’s hands sneakily attempting to slip down over Sam’s ass. This is too much.

 

“When you brought some of the guys down to stay with me and Dad, remember?” Sam answers, the picture of innocence.

 

“He’s cuter than I remember, Dean.” Gabriel says, and Dean stares at him, unable to talk. “Thanks for delivering him to me. Well, goodnight!”

 

Gabriel grabs hold of Sam’s hand, tugging him into his room. Sam laughs awkwardly and fights him off, slipping his hand free. “Uh, Gabe, I’m- I’m not gonna stay in he-”

 

“Shh, beautiful, we’ve talked too much.” Gabriel interrupts him, one finger pressed against Sam's lips, and Sam splutters. “C’mon in, I’ll take care of you.”

 

It’s at this moment that Dean seems to regain control of his brain. He starts forward, placing his body between Sam and Gabriel, staring the older Novak down with fire in his eyes.

 

“Like Hell!” Dean near shouts. “What’s goin’ on here? You got the hots for my little brother?”

 

“Um, seeing as I’m attracted to ridiculously good looking, funny, smart, adorable people I’d say yeah.” Gabriel replies, shrugging. He winks at Sam over Dean’s shoulder.

 

Sam’s mouth falls open. “Dean, I didn’t… I didn’t know he-”

 

“Oh, don’t be coy!” Gabriel tells him. “I’ll only punish you for it later.”

 

Castiel bursts out laughing then, earning himself more than one glare. He can’t help it, this is hilarious.

 

“You don’t even know him!” Dean cries, incredulous. Gabriel sighs, raising his eyebrows and folding his arms, just waiting for the realisation to dawn on Dean. “Wait… I fuckin’ knew it!”

 

Sam cringes at Dean’s anger, and Castiel shoots him a look of sympathy. To be fair though, the younger Winchester made his choice – talking to Gabriel is never a good idea, Cas will tell people that until they believe him.

 

“It was you!” Dean yells, jabbing a finger in Gabe’s bare chest. “You told him about me and Cas, about everything! How dare you talk to my little brother without telling me!”

 

“Dean!” Sam cries from behind him, and Dean whirls round to face him, still furious. “It was me, I contacted him. We talk on the phone sometimes and Skype and stuff. We got on really well when we met that time! Plus, I just wanted to keep tabs on you.”

 

“Sammy, you don’t know who you’re messin’ with here,” Dean stresses, “you should’ve told me-”

 

“Oh grow up, Dean.” Sam says crossly, rolling his eyes. “I’m allowed to talk to whoever I want!”

 

Dean looks skyward, then closes his eyes in apparent defeat. “I’m not dealing with this now.” He sighs. “Look, Sam, let’s just talk tomorrow, it’s been a Hell of a day. I already introduced you to the Pledges, their room is that one. Go to sleep.”

 

Sam looks amazed, then shakes his head. “Fine. You’re gonna have to talk to me about this stuff sometime, y’know." Sam stares at Dean, receiving only a glare from his older brother. He sighs, exasperated. "Night Cas, night Gabe.”

 

He starts to walk away then, retreating down the corridor. Cas watches him worriedly, glancing up at Dean’s exhausted expression.

 

“Wait, Sammy!” Gabe calls after him; somehow his robe is now untied. “You’re really not coming in?”

 

* * *

 

 

At 2am, Cas is wide awake in Dean’s bed, one arm draped over Dean’s chest. He knows Dean is awake too, he can tell by the shallowness of his breathing. He thinks over the events of the day, marvelling at the mess. Sam has certainly arrived with a crash; Cas was stupid to think his arrival wouldn’t change anything. Dean was right to worry.

 

So Gabe has decided to pursue Sam, which is the most ridiculous thing Cas has ever heard. He is one hundred percent sure that Gabriel wouldn’t know what to do with Sam Winchester if he had him. He’s probably just doing it to piss Dean off, really.

 

And Dean didn’t tell Sam about his job, what’s that about? Just like he didn’t tell Sam about him and Cas, or that he was failing BioChem and probably a hundred other things too. Cas gets it. If he were Sam, he’d feel pretty bummed out that his brother wasn’t letting him in.

 

But then again, Cas understands Dean more. Hell, he might even understand Dean better than anyone else. He knows that Dean keeps things from Sam because he thinks the boy has too much to deal with anyway, what with their Dad being how he is. Dean thinks that he doesn’t need to unload his problems onto Sam, because he can get through them on his own.

 

Well, now that Cas is around, Dean doesn’t have to do it alone. But still.

 

“Dean?” Cas bravely whispers into the darkness. A few moments go by, but eventually there’s an answering ‘mmm’. “Are you worrying?”

 

Dean sighs, his chest rising and falling. Cas tilts his face up to where Dean’s is, though he can’t make out any features.

 

“Yeah.” Dean replies, and Cas waits, patiently, for him to expand. “Sammy doesn’t get it. Everythin’ I do, I do because I want him to have a good life.”

 

Castiel doesn’t quite know how to phrase this next question. He draws concentric circles on Dean’s chest with the tip of his finger, chewing his lip.

 

“Are… are you working for Bobby to get money for Sam?” He asks eventually, and has to wait a long time before the answer comes.

 

“My Dad’s not gonna give him anything.” Dean nearly whispers. “He wears my old clothes, uses my old textbooks, gets lifts from his friends, uses the groceries I buy him when I go down to see him…” Castiel hears the breath catch in Dean’s throat.

 

He finds Dean’s hand and threads his fingers through it, trying hard not mind that it’s lifeless, doesn’t squeeze back.

 

“Dean, you’re gonna work yourself to the bone.” Cas says, allowing himself to voice his concerns because it’s two in the morning, this time doesn’t really count – they can both say and do things they might not normally. “What if you exhaust yourself so much that your grades slip? Or you can’t do so well in football? You can’t be Sam’s sole provider, there must be other ways-”

 

“Oh yeah, like what, Cas?” Dean demands suddenly, his voice suddenly raised and angry. He rips his hand out of Cas’s, and Cas can feel the other boy tensing. “The kid’s got nobody but me, and that’s the truth! He’s so clever and good, he shouldn’t have to get a job or worry about where to find food, ever!”

 

“But, Dean, what about _your_ life?” Cas counters, sitting up a little because Dean clearly doesn’t want him on top of him any more. “You shouldn’t have to worry about those things either.”

 

“Oh, get real, Cas.” Dean sneers, the harshness of his voice creeping under Cas’s skin. “I don’t matter. I’m a fuck up! I’m not gonna be an astro-physicist or a lawyer or a stockbroker, I’m gonna be stuck in a dead end job working with my hands and we all know it – probably at Bobby’s garage!”

 

“Dean, that’s not true, what about your football career?” Cas cries, unable to believe Dean could think such a thing. Dean doesn’t even seem to hear him.

 

“Sammy’s the one that matters, he’s the one that could actually make it.” Dean states, his voice more level now. “He doesn’t understand yet, he cares too much about me but he’s gotta stop. I need you to help me out here, Cas. Can’t believe you told him about my job in the first place, are you crazy?”

 

Cas is silent for a moment, disbelieving. Is Dean serious? He’s blaming Cas for this? How was Cas to know what Dean wants Sam to know and what he doesn’t? Is he a mind reader?

 

“In fact, what was that whole thing today?” Dean continues, his voice crescendoing again, anger bubbling up beneath the surface. Castiel feels his stomach wind itself into a knot. “Turning up fuckin’ _stoned_ to meet my little brother for the first time? How could you do that Cas? You ruined the whole evening with your shit – it’s your fault that this argument even happened! If you weren’t high as a kite, you would’ve known to keep your mouth shut-”

 

Cas doesn’t say anything. He just sucks in a breath, blocks out Dean’s voice, and pushes the covers off himself. He gets out of the bed slowly, thanking the heavens that he is actually wearing pyjamas because Dean seemed way to distracted to even think about sex tonight.

 

“Woah, Cas wait.” Dean is saying, but Cas doesn’t turn around.

 

“I’m not sleeping here tonight. I won’t let you blame me for this, Dean.” Cas says, padding over to the door. “Talk to me tomorrow if you rethink what you said to me just now.”

 

“No, wait, baby I’m sorry.” Dean says, and the endearment nearly makes Cas falter. “Please, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

 

“Goodnight, Dean.” Cas says softly, and opens the door. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Sam?”

 

“Hm? Oh… hi, Cas.” Sam whispers as Cas lies down next to him on the makeshift bed on the floor, where the younger Winchester lies. “What’s up? Where’s Dean?”

 

Castiel sighs into the darkness. One of the other Pledges is snoring steadily. No wonder Sam wasn’t asleep when Cas came in.

 

“Your brother… needs some time on his own.” Castiel chooses his words carefully. “Do you mind if I sleep here tonight? I don’t fancy walking back to my dorm room in the rain at this hour.”

 

“Sure, of course.” Sam says as if he can’t believe Cas even had to ask, and Cas smiles at him, though he knows Sam can’t see. “Is he being a dick? Cause he does that, you know. It’s all part of the package.”

 

Cas laughs softly, so as not to wake the other people in the room. “So I’ve noticed.”

 

“If it helps…” Sam continues. “He’s not as much of a dick now as he used to be. I’m, like, a hundred percent sure that’s because you make him so happy now.”

 

Castiel smiles again, a little sadly now, thinking of how Dean just spoke to him. “You think? Sometimes I wonder.”

 

This time Sam laughs. “Are you kidding? Before he met you he was a miserable, womanising, grumpy asshole. No exaggeration. Now he’s always smiling and talking about you and… yeah. Being gross basically.”

 

Sam’s words set Cas’s heart pumping, thoughts of Dean’s sweetness, his fond smile, his whispered words in Cas’s ear reverberating around in his brain.

 

Yeah, maybe it’s nothing to worry about, Cas thinks. Dean loves him, he knows that.

 

“Your brother is the most wonderful person I’ve ever known.” Castiel tells Sam, meaning every word. “I just…”

 

Cas trails off, wondering if perhaps this is not an appropriate conversation to have with Sam, seeing as Dean prefers to keep so much from him.

 

“What?” Sam prompts, and it sounds so much like he already knows what Cas is going to say.

 

Castiel sighs, looking over at Sam. “I just wish he’d realise it himself.”

 

Sam smiles back sadly, nodding. “Yeah. Me too Cas.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We make up to break up to make up. 
> 
> This is certainly not Cas's day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm exponentially sorry about the lateness. I was in Paris for a friend's birthday. I hope you'll forgive me. I've had to write this chapter in two parts and it's hella long, so prepare. The next chapter will have sex, you have my word. 
> 
> Love to you all xxx

Cas sleeps in later than he thought he would. It’s Wednesday thank goodness, he doesn’t have class until two, so at least he’s not going to get in trouble. He sits up, confused about where he is for a moment, before remembering he’s in the Pledge’s dorm room.

 

The place is weirdly spotless – the beds are all made and empty, personal belongings are placed neatly on shelves or hidden away in cupboards out of sight. It's a strange comparison to the rest of the house. Cas supposes Dean must have a strict policy that the Pledges have to keep their room clean. There are eight beds in here, not including the one Cas and Sam shared on the floor last night.

 

Speaking of, Cas thinks, glancing down beside him at the place Sam should be. Where is the younger Winchester? Heck, where is anybody? Cas stretches wearily, exhausted by the worry gnawing away at his brain. Is Dean still mad at him about yesterday? Should he apologise? Should he just leave?

 

He sighs, hating this feeling. He knew things were going too well.

 

There’s an unmistakeable bubble of chatter coming from downstairs, and Cas assumes this must be where everyone is. He should probably go down and see what’s happening. He has to face the music sometime after all.

 

Sighing again, he heads for the bathroom, pees, gives his teeth a quick brush, then splashes his face with water to wake himself up a little. He gazes into his own tired reflection in the smeared mirror above the sink. There are dark, silvery-violet circles under his eyes that he can’t remember being so prominent before. His hair is a mess, but what’s new there? He doesn’t mind that so much, Dean has mentioned before that he likes it looking kind of ruffled.

 

He tries a smile, but it comes out as a grimace, and Cas looks away from himself, near disgusted. Okay, he tells himself, let’s just get this over with.

 

He pads down the stairs softly, hit almost at once by the unbelievably intoxicating smell of frying batter. His mouth waters a little, wondering if he’ll actually get to sample any of the goodness or if seeing Dean this morning will result in him leaving pretty sharpish.

 

He follows the delightful smell down the hall and into the kitchen, finding most of the Frat gathered in there together, leaned against the counters and island, sat on chairs around the big table, or just hovering near the stove. Amongst them is Garth, who nods at him, and Gabriel of course, sat at the table, who winks, his arm firmly around Sam Winchester’s shoulders. Sam, for the most part, looks pretty uncomfortable, but seems to roll with it nonetheless.

 

“Cas, baby,” Dean calls out of nowhere, making Cas jump a little. He’s too distracted by the sight of everyone all together like this – it’s such a rare sight to see the entire Frat in one place at one time outside of a party.

 

Cas turns and watches warily as Dean bounds over to him, jogging a little, a spatula in his hand and no shirt on. Cas can’t help staring of course, as if he ever could – couldn’t Dean have had the sensitivity to at least clothe himself if he’s about to yell at Cas some more?

 

Dean stops in front of him, looking a little awkward. “You, uh, want some pancakes?”

 

Cas blinks at him, confused. There’s no mistaking the shame, the apology in Dean’s expression. Is Dean… saying sorry? Cas wonders what he should do. He glances over towards his brother, hoping for some guidance, but finds Gabriel very much preoccupied with jabbing his fork ninja-style at the syrup-drenched pancake on Sam's plate. For his part, the younger Winchester just continues shoveling forkfuls into his mouth, periodically trying fight off Gabriel’s attempts with a clang of metal.

 

No one else is even paying Dean or Cas the slightest bit of attention. Most of the other Psi Delta Alpha boys seem to be deeply involved in some kind of pancake-carving competition, seeing who can shape their pancake into the crudest design the fastest. Gordon is without a doubt winning, Castiel thinks to himself, feeling slightly queasy upon seeing what the guy has created with his batter.

 

It’s almost enough to put him off the idea of pancakes right now. Almost.

 

Cas looks back up at Dean, melting immediately when he sees the anxiety in his boyfriend’s face. “Okay.”

 

Dean’s shoulders sag in what Cas assumes is relief. “Cool, c’mere, lemme hook you up.”

 

Dean gingerly places a hand on Cas’s shoulder, pressing lightly, urging him forwards towards the stove, as if concerned Cas might change his mind and turn tail. Cas has to admit, it’s not out of the question. Dean really needs to make up for his actions last night with more than just fried flour, eggs and milk.

 

Delicious as it may be.

 

“Dean-o, I need another pancake over here, man!” Shouts Luke, holding his empty plate aloft. There are several cheers of agreement, more plates being raised into the air, and Cas smiles at the family-feel of it all, Dean cooking for his ‘brothers’ on a Wednesday morning.

 

“Pipe down, idiots,” Dean shouts in response, pouring pancake batter into the pan, “Cas is next.”

 

Several people, including Luke and Gordon, groan and roll their eyes, as though expecting Dean might say this. Cas can’t help but smile a little, and when he looks up, Dean winks at him.

 

It's really entirely unsurprising that Dean is an expert at making pancakes. He's just that kind of guy. He pushes Cas backwards gently, not wanting him to get splashed with the hot oil, and flips the pancake with the ease that makes you want to punch someone. Cas’s heart flips a little too if he’s honest – how did he manage to land someone this perfect?

 

He and Dean still need to talk though, pancake sorcery or not. He’s not letting this go entirely. It’s just difficult to be mad at someone who’s so attractive all the time. Dean winks at him again and flips his pancake not once, not twice, but _three_ times in the air, landing it stylishly on a plate laid out ready.

 

The rest of the Frat cheer him as he goes, and Dean presents the pancake to Cas with a flourish and bow. “For you, angel.”

 

Cas shakes his head fondly and accepts the plate, smiling at Dean. “Thank you.”

 

“Alright, someone take over. Gabe!” Dean calls, and Gabriel looks up quickly, his head far too close to Sam’s for comfort. There’s a look in his eye as though he’s been caught. “Get off my little brother and come cook some pancakes.”

 

Gabriel looks distraught. “What! Come on! I think I’m actually getting somewhere!”

 

Sam chokes on his next bite of pancake, shaking his head wildly. Cas can’t help but chuckle at the sight.

 

“Gabe.” Dean says in his warning tone, and Cas wishes the sound didn’t go straight to his dick. He busies himself by covering his pancake in sugar and lemon.

 

“Fine.” Gabriel says reluctantly, unwinding himself from Sam and wandering over to the pan. “Who’s next then, fuckers?”

 

Barely audible in the noisy clamour that follows, Dean presses himself against Cas’s back, leaning forwards to whisper into his ear, making him drop the teaspoon he’s holding. “Can I talk to you? Other room.”

 

Cas nods, and feels Dean retreat. He takes a moment to gather himself, cuts himself a couple of bites of pancake because he can’t resist, and savours the gloriousness of his favourite breakfast food for a second, before heading off to find Dean.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean is waiting in the living area, the same place he had waited for Cas in a mess of pillows and blankets, champagne and strawberries strewn across the floor.

 

Cas can’t help but notice he’s still shirtless, and forces himself to look away, to stop salivating or he’ll never get through this conversation without jumping on Dean first.

 

“Lost your shirt again?” Cas asks weakly, pointedly staring at the space just to the left of Dean.

 

Dean chuckles. “Oh, sorry.”

 

“Well.” Cas says, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s not like I _mind_.”

 

Dean chews his lip for a second, seemingly at a loss for words. After a moment, he goes to sit on the couch behind him, and pats the space beside him.

 

“Come sit.”

 

Cas does as asked, wandering over and plonking himself down next to Dean, wary of keeping a thin space between them, lest the skin on skin contact drive him mad.

 

“I wanna apologise, Cas.” Dean says quietly, and Cas turns, gazing at Dean’s beautiful face in profile. “What I said to you… last night, I mean. It was totally uncool.”

 

Cas doesn’t say anything, he just waits. He’s not going to pretend it was okay, hearing those things from Dean’s mouth last night. He hopes dearly that Dean truly is sorry, that he was just stressed out, looking for someone to dump the blame onto. Because, honestly, Castiel isn’t sure he has the capacity to be cut so deeply by Dean again now.

 

A few months ago, when Dean had told Cas he never cared about him, that he only ever wanted him for sex, it had broken Cas into pieces he never thought he’d recover from. To hear such painful things from someone he loves, it’s too much to deal with.

 

Cas doesn’t want to even think it, but deep down he knows that if Dean keeps using him as a verbal punching bag when things get tough, he won’t be able to handle it. He will have to let Dean go.

 

“My little brother and me… we’ve got problems.” Dean admits, still not looking at Cas. “It’s not fair of me to blame you for them, heck, you just met the guy. I’m just always so worried about him, and I know he worries about me just as much, but that’s somethin’ he shouldn’t have on his shoulders y’know? I’m the older sibling, I have to be responsible. He gets to reap the benefits.” Dean sighs, smiling slightly. “He gets college paid for and a good education and an awesome older brother to look out for him.”

 

“What do you get?” Cas asks, still unable to comprehend the way Dean thinks. He has to stop Dean from thinking he’s not worth anything the way Sam is.

 

“Are you kiddin’?” Dean asks, turning to face Cas at last, his smile widening as their eyes meet. “I get you.”

 

Damn, is this boy a smooth talker, thinks Cas, helpless in his responding actions as he leans up and kisses Dean, melting into him with relief, demonstrating his acceptance of Dean’s apology with the pliancy of his mouth and tongue.

 

It feels a little like an unfinished conversation, Cas thinks vaguely as Dean leans him back against the sofa cushions, kissing him in a way that sends Cas into dizzying freewheels. They should probably talk more, and Dean needs some serious guidance, but… it can wait, surely.

 

“Love you, Cas. M’sorry.” Dean whispers against his lips, and Cas decides that, yes, it can definitely wait.

 

* * *

 

 

“Agh, my eyes!”

 

At the sound of the young voice, Dean immediately whips his hand out of Cas’s shirt, sitting up abruptly, breaking the long kiss they’d been indulging in.

 

“Sam, dude!” Dean cries, affronted, and Castiel sits up too, a little dazed from all the make-up kissing. “What the Hell, man?”

 

“Oh, _I’m sorry_ ,” Sam says sarcastically, peering at Dean through his fingers, as though his hands will cover the worst of the scene he walked in on. “Next time I’ll knock before coming in the _living room_ , a communal space for anyone to just walk in-”

 

“Alright, alright, shut up, would you?” Dean interrupts, reluctantly shifting himself to the edge of the couch, ready to get up. “So, uh, I need to talk to you two anyway – I’ve got practice all day.”

 

Cas raises his eyebrows, suddenly very attentive as to where Dean is going with this. “Meaning…?”

 

Dean laughs awkwardly, casting a ‘please don’t kill me’ look at Cas, who suddenly has plans to do just that.

 

“Well, I was gonna suggest you guys… hang out?” Dean suggests, glancing between Castiel and Sam, as though monitoring them closely for eruptions. “I’m sorry guys, I just… I’m goin’ through an intense season of training right now, the coach is bein’ a real hardass, preppin’ us for the final game, y’know?”

 

Sam is silent for a moment, then shrugs. “It’s cool with me. It’ll be fun to hang out with Cas.” Dean grins at him, pride in his eyes. “You’re gone all day?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, looking apologetic, “I should really get goin’ actually-”

 

“What’s this?” A voice interrupts, and Gabriel strides into the room, threading his arms around Sam’s waist from behind, making him squeal hilariously. “You’re alone, unguarded all day?”

 

“Oh God.” Sam and Dean say at the same time, colour draining from both of their faces.

 

Cas places a reassuring hand on Dean’s arm. “I’ll watch him.”

 

Dean just smiles, a little tiredly Cas thinks, and places a hand on top of Cas’s.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, you’ve really gotta go… right now?” Cas asks, seated on Dean’s bed, watching him with barely concealed arousal as Dean changes into gym clothes right in front of him.

 

“Sorry, beautiful,” Dean replies, tugging on a shirt at last, and Cas sighs, disappointed that all of that beauty is now hidden from him. “I’m already late, Bobby’s gonna be pissed.”

 

Cas hooks his leg round Dean’s as he walks past the bed, tugging him close. Dean could probably break free of Cas’s hold if he wanted but instead he just smiles indulgently, leaning in and pressing his lips to Cas’s.

 

“I could make you a little later…” Cas whispers in what he hopes is an extremely tantalising way, his lips brushing against Dean’s. “If you wanted.”

 

Dean groans softly, biting at Cas’s lower lip to punish him for being so bad. “You’re a bad influence.”

 

Dean pulls away, and Cas tries not to make a spoilt noise of frustration. “It’s your fault. You corrupted me.”

 

Dean throws him a wink so filthy it makes Cas blush, and Dean chuckles at the sight. “Later, I promise.” Dean says solemnly, tilting Cas’s chin up with his hand, forcing their eyes to meet. “I’ve still gotta make things up to you, anyway.”

 

Cas pushes their lips together again, wishing he could just skip to whenever ‘later’ is, but then Dean is pulling away again, and Cas flops back onto the bed, defeated.

 

“You sure you’re okay babysittin’ Sammy today?” Dean asks as he shrugs on a coat, glancing at his watch. “Sorry for dumpin’ that on you, angel. Just show him round campus or somethin’, make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”

 

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Cas says, though he wonders how he’s going to fit ‘babysitting’ around his Religious Studies seminar at 2. “I like Sam, I’m happy to spend time with him.”

 

“You’re seriously the best.” Dean tells Cas, heading for the door. “I love you, I’ll see you later, okay? Me, you and Sam can watch a movie or somethin’.” Dean pauses, smirking a little. “Y’know, before bedtime.”

 

Cas blushes again, chucking a sock at Dean’s head. “Get out of here, I’m already trying to suppress my urges.” Dean winks at him, and darts out the door. “Love you too!” Cas calls, and the door closes.

 

* * *

 

 

**Castiel Novak**  
I forgot to tell you to have a   
great day of practice. Xxx  
  
**Dean Winchester (!)**  
Thanks, angel. Have a great  
day too, and tell Gabe to keep  
his paws off my bro. xxx  


**Castiel Novak**  
I told him. He wants to know  
if he can join in the movie   
night later. Xxx

 

**Dean Winchester (!)**  
I hope you told him to fuck off.  
xxx

 

**Castiel Novak**  
I’m excited for later. Xxx

 

**Dean Winchester (!)**  
Damn straight. I’m gonna rock  
your world. xxx

 

**Castiel Novak**  
Can I have a hint of what  
‘later’ might entail? Xxx

 

**Dean Winchester (!)**  
Hell no. …Do some stretches.   
I gotta go, angel. Bout  
to head onto the field.   
Love you  
xxx

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel is sometimes reminded of just how different he and his brother are in terms of personality; the day of ‘hanging out’ with Sam Winchester has certainly reminded him again. They’re only five minutes into the day, in fact, when he and Gabriel start to bicker.

 

“Gabe, it’s not appropriate!” Castiel cries, his head starting to pound with the frustration of getting his ridiculous brother to see sense. “When I suggested a ‘tour of the campus’, I highly doubt Sam was including ‘the back of the bike shed’ as one of the highlights!”

 

“You’re such a prude, Cassy!” Gabriel says, rolling his eyes and shooting an uncomfortable looking Sam a ‘look’. “He wants to go, don’t you Sammy?” Sam just swallows and darts a scared look towards Cas. “In fact Cassy, you don’t even have to join us, you can go and find Dean or whatever…”

 

“Does the college even have bike sheds?” Castiel asks, running a virtual map of the campus through his mind, trying to think of where these ‘bike sheds’ might be located. “I’ve never-”

 

“It’s a figure of speech, Cassy.” Gabriel hisses, and Sam makes a frightened noise. Cas is at a loss for words.

 

“Let’s just… hit the main spots, alright?” Cas says, shifting his weight to the other foot impatiently. “The coffee shop, the student club, the library-”

 

“Oh my God, Cassy, the _library_?” Gabriel groans, and Cas sends his brother a bitchface. “Did someone actively suck all the fun out of you as a baby?”

 

“It was probably the fault of your stupid, pointless, abusive pranks, you assbutt.” Cas snaps moodily, and Gabriel raises his hands in surrender. “I’m tired of arguing about this, Dean wants me to show Sam around, so I’m gonna do it, whether you complain or not. Sam, follow me.”

 

* * *

 

 

They hit the coffee shop first. Entering the space immediately calms Castiel, as it’s a familiar spot for him, the interior warm and rich with the smells of ground coffee, sweet pastries and drying rainwater from the students’ coats slung over the backs of their chairs. It hasn’t stopped raining in what feels like forever.

 

Cas really likes the colour scheme in here – deep, hot colours that remind one of coffee. Mahoganies and nutmegs, with splashes of maroon and crimson. In other words, Cas relishes the familiarity of this place, the homeliness.

 

“Man, I hate this place.” Gabriel says the moment he steps in the door, sneering at the general atmosphere, and Cas’s skin prickles with annoyance.

 

“Shall we get a coffee?” Sam asks, and Cas kind of wants to hug him for being so good about all this. It can’t be easy after all, coming up to stay with your brother at college and having to spend the day with his boyfriend who you’ve never met and- well, an asshole. “Gabe, you definitely seem like a cinnamon latté kinda guy.”

 

Cas grins at his brother, amused, because yes, Castiel has been in the presence of Gabriel when he has ordered this very beverage.

 

“With whippy cream.” Gabriel mumbles a little moodily, and Sam laughs, clapping him on the back.

 

“Gotcha. I’m buying.” Sam looks over Gabe’s head. “Cas?”

 

“Oh, um, thank you Sam.” Castiel wonders what to do here. Dean is always saying that Sam never has any money, that Dean has to provide it all. Does that mean that Cas should refuse Sam’s offer to buy him a drink? Should Cas get this round of coffees instead, or would that look dickish and mother-hen-like? This is all so complicated. Oh, fuck it. “I’ll have a soya cappuccino.”

 

“Cool, go grab a table guys.” Sam tells them, smiling in encouragement. “I’ll bring the drinks.”

 

Gabriel sighs as he goes, then turns to Cas, giving him a slight glare. “Come on then, nerdmeister.”

 

They head into the maze of tables, Castiel eyeing up his favourite one in the corner by the window, when Gabriel makes a noise of excitement.

 

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite gaggle of sex puppies!” Gabriel cries, holding his arms wide and crossing the room to two of the big squashy couches. Castiel looks over in alarm, noting with some disappointment that on the couches sit a group of six or seven girls including Anna Milton, Lisa Braeden and Meg Masters. “How’re my girls?”

 

Some of the girls on the sofa greet Gabriel warmly, Cas notes, particularly Anna – but a few of them roll their eyes or send him looks of hatred. It doesn’t take a genius to work out why this might be. As much as Castiel doesn’t like to think about it, he knows his brother is something of a renowned womaniser.

 

Reluctantly, Castiel follows his brother over to the couches, waving awkwardly at Anna when she smiles at him, and sitting down in the place beside her when she pats the sofa encouragingly. Meg sends him a flirty wink and wave, and Castiel nods at her, blushing slightly.

 

“Castiel, it’s so good to see you!” Anna exclaims. “It’s such a shame you and Dean couldn’t make it to my party on Sunday.” Castiel opens his mouth, ready to apologise and whip an excuse out of the air, but Anna leans close to him, winking coyly and grinning. “Better things to do, I bet.”

 

Castiel can’t help but smile back; her niceness is infectious. He wonders how she doesn’t feel awkward around him though, considering she’s the one Dean cheated on him with.

 

“We did want to go, but…” Castiel trails off, not knowing what to say.

 

“Hey, it’s totally fine, man.” Anna assures him, grabbing her coffee off the table in front of her. Castiel notices his brother on the sofa opposite, draped inelegantly over two girls’ laps, one of whom looks about two seconds away from shoving him off. “Hey,” Anna continues, placing her coffee back down, “I don’t know if I mentioned it to Dean, haven’t seen him in forever, but my sorority is actually having a party tonight! You should come! Bring the boyf!”

 

Castiel already begins shaking his head. “Oh, my, that’s sweet of you to invite us, but Gabe and I are actually hanging out with Dean’s-”

 

“Cassy!” Gabriel interrupts. “Catch up on your Bieber, man. Never say never! Come on, don’t you think Sammy would want to see the _real_ college experience while he’s here?”

 

Castiel is just about to reel off the long list of reasons that is an absolutely _terrible_ idea, but at that moment, Sam coughs politely from the arm of the couch, clutching three coffee cups in his hands.

 

“Sorry, I don’t wanna interrupt-” Sam starts to say, and all at once, everyone starts talking.

 

Every girl on the couches except Anna seems to turn to her friends to whisper and giggle, not all that quietly, about the new face.

 

Gabriel, for his part, just grins, loving the reaction, and takes great pleasure in announcing: “Ladies of Theta Phi, I present to you, Winchester Second Generation. _Sam_.”

 

“Oh my God, you’re Dean’s brother?” Lisa squeals, her eyes practically little hearts.

 

Ruby, whom Castiel has just noticed on the end of his sofa, squeezed beside Meg, is next to speak. “You are the cutest thing I have ever seen.”

 

“Um, thanks.” Sam says, blushing furiously, and several of the girls place their hands over their hearts.

 

Seemingly at a loss for what to do, Sam leans over and places the three coffees carefully down on the table, dithering about where to sit.

 

“Girls, for goodness sake, make some room for the cutie with a booty!” Gabriel practically yells, making Cas cringe. The girls obediently part in the centre of the sofa, creating a space for Sam in between Lisa and a blonde, curly-haired girl Cas has never seen. “Oh, and before you all start bartering for it, the kid’s promised his virginity to me, so-”

 

“What?!” Sam exclaims, terrified, and the girls laugh, slinging their arms around him and playing with strands of his hair.

 

Castiel sighs, reaching for his coffee. Well, at least Sam looks as though he’s enjoying himself.

 

“I’m guessing that’s the reason you can’t come later, then?” Anna asks quietly, leaning towards Cas, who nods, shrugging. “How old is he, anyway?”

 

“Almost eighteen.” Castiel tells her, and she nods.

 

“Careful then,” she tells Cas, “the kid’s nearly as cute as his brother was, and these girls are like vultures for anything Frat-related.”

 

“Dean’s still cute.” Cas can’t help saying, because he’s still feeling annoyed about several things, mostly his bonehead brother.  

 

Luckily, Anna just laughs. “Yeah, but I can’t go around saying that now, can I? His boyfriend might beat me up.”

 

She nudges him playfully, grinning; Castiel can see why she’s so popular. She’s the type of easy-going, fun-loving and perpetually happy friend anyone would want. She’s beautiful, smart (Castiel has heard about her high GPA, Politics-major-type genius from many people) and just _nice._ What kind of person wouldn’t like someone like that?

 

Castiel can’t help it, though. He wants to like Anna, truly. He wishes he could get past his grudge, but every time he tries, all he sees is Dean pinning her against that wall. All he hears is her voice, innocent and naiive, asking ‘who is that?’, meaning him, Castiel, and then feeling as unimportant as a bug daring to crawl under her immaculate stiletto heel.

 

It’s not her fault, Cas knows. He just needs time for the pain to fade, for that image to ebb away. He smiles back at her anyway, knowing it probably looks forced, and hoping she understands.

 

“Sammy,” Gabriel says suddenly, catching Cas’s attention, along with everyone else’s. “Would you please tell my moronic little brother over there how much you would love to go to a Theta Phi party tonight?”

 

“Gabe!” Cas cries, unable to believe his brother is such a pig-headed idiot. It’s not about whether Sam wants to go or not, surely Gabe can see that?

 

Sam’s mouth falls open, and Cas sees the gleam in his eyes, his heart sinking. “A party? Like a real college party?”

 

“Yep!” Gabe confirms, grinning at him. “All these lovely ladies will be there, along with half of Fraternity Row, I’m sure.”

 

“Oh my God, yes, I wanna go.” Sam exclaims, practically jumping in his seat with excitement. “Can we?”

 

“Sam,” Cas says seriously, catching the younger Winchester’s eye across the table, “Dean doesn’t want you drinking or doing anything crazy, especially without him there. I really think you should give this a miss.”

 

Sam sighs in disappointment, the light going out in his eyes, and there’s a chorus of boos across the couches, lead by Gabriel.

 

“Clarence, you are such a bore.” Meg complains, rolling her eyes. “I, for one, would love to steal this little party-virgin’s innocence. We made jello shots, Sam.”

 

Sam looks desperately at Cas, hoping he’ll relent. “You know what Dean would say, Sam. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to ruin your-”

 

“Whatever.” Sam says, a little brattily, Cas thinks, and he raises his eyebrows at the younger boy. “Let’s just go to the library, yeah?”

 

Castiel is at a loss for words momentarily, and he casts a glance around the coffee shop, sighing. It’s then that he catches sight of the clock on the wall, and realises it’s ten to two.

 

“Shit!” Cas cries, and notes with some amusement the surprise on people’s faces. He needs to stop swearing so much; he used to be such a good boy. “I’m almost late for class.” Cas jumps out of his seat, swallowing a gulp of his coffee and burning his tongue a little. “Ow. Gabriel, would you watch him for a while? Text me where to find you guys later.”

 

“ _Watch_ me?” Sam repeats with disbelief. “Is that what Dean told you to do? Like some kid?”

 

Cas pauses, realising he’s caused distress. “No, not at all, I didn’t mean…”

 

“Okay, sure Cas.” Sam interrupts again, rolling his eyes. “Go to class, Gabe’s taking over your babysitting shift. I’ll see you later.”

 

Castiel dithers, chewing his lip. He knows he’s leaving things in a bit of a state, but he’s going to be late if he doesn’t leave now. He can fix things with Sam later.

 

“Okay.” Cas says eventually. “Gabe, please be sensible. Text me later.”

 

With that, and a quick wave, Cas runs to the door.

 

* * *

 

 

Upon exiting class, Castiel expects to have received at least one text from his brother reporting back on where he and Sam are.

 

Well, Cas thinks, upon seeing his inbox is empty, it’s only been an hour or so, perhaps they’re still at the coffee shop.

 

Cas heads there at once, pleased to find that the rain has slowed to a light drizzle by now, which is better than before at least. He wonders how Dean is getting on at practice in the rain, whether he’ll return home muddy and exhausted, drenched from the ongoing downpour. Castiel doesn’t even bother trying to stop the image from forming in his mind. Mmmm.

 

He reaches the coffee shop in seemingly no time, and walks in to find it very noticeably lacking in customers, particularly loud, boisterous, prank-inclined ones or lanky, long-haired, mildly bratty ones.

 

Huh, Cas thinks. Maybe they went to the library? He starts for the door, intending to head there, but pulls his phone out as he goes.

 

**Castiel Novak**  
Hi Gabe, I’m out of class.   
Where are you guys? X

 

Castiel keeps his phone in his hand in case he can’t feel it in his pocket, but during the long walk across campus to the library, he receives no responding text. To be honest, his hopes of finding Sam or Gabe in here are small, considering his brother would more likely be found literally anywhere else.

 

He has a quick wander around the ground floor inside, checking the occult section because Dean had mentioned how Sam was interested in that stuff, and also the computers, because heck knows Gabriel has an avid interest in those.

 

He wanders back out into the rain then and tries calling Gabriel. The phone rings through to answerphone, so Cas tries again, and this time the rings cut off halfway through.

 

Like someone purposefully ended the call.

 

**Castiel Novak**  
Gabe, where are you? I’m  
getting annoyed.

 

He waits five minutes, then ten, then twenty. After there’s still nothing from either of them, Cas starts to head back to his dorm room. He’s soaked by now, and he’s itching to change his clothes from yesterday anyway, along with dumping his bag.

 

Mercifully, Becky is nowhere to be seen, and Cas jumps in a deliciously warm shower, dries off and puts on some fresh, clean clothes. He knows he’s kidding himself when he checks his phone yet again, and sure enough there’s still nothing.

 

His annoyance is starting to simmer beneath his skin, as he’s starting to get an idea of where they might have gone, and if so, Cas is going to be furious with Gabriel.

 

Sighing, Cas packs a new overnight bag for tonight, because Dean had invited him for a movie night. He packs these overnight bags so often, he might as well just start leaving stuff at Dean’s, but he’s concerned that Dean might get weirded out by that.

 

Glancing at the clock and realising it’s now 4:30, Castiel decides it’s time to go and check the last place he thinks Gabe and Sam might be. The Theta Phi Sorority house.

 

* * *

 

 

Cas is just about to walk out the door when his phone rings. He grabs it out of his pocket, furious, and accepts the call, bringing the phone to his ear.

 

“Gabe, you little shit, what the Hell-”

 

“Woah, Cas?”

 

Cas pauses, heart flying into his throat, as the sound of his boyfriend’s voice trickles through the speaker.

 

“Dean.”

 

“What’s goin’ on?” Dean asks, concerned, and Cas squeezes his eyes shut, wishing this wasn’t happening. Dean can’t know that Cas has lost Gabe and Sam. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m…” Cas steadies his voice, breathing deeply, exhaling in a rush. “I’m fine, yes. Sorry.”

 

“Where’s Gabe? What’s he done?”

 

“Um,” Cas begins eloquently, scrabbling around in his brain for a suitable lie, “he’s… he’s run off somewhere. Got bored of me and Sam nerding around the library I expect.”

 

Dean breathes what sounds like a sigh of relief, and Cas relaxes. “Oh. But Sam’s still with you?”

 

“Y-yes, of course.” Cas lies again, cringing at having to do so. But Dean would be so worried if Cas told him where he thought Sam really was right now. “We’re having a great time. He says hi.”

 

“Good.” Dean says, sounding much less anxious now. “That’s real good. Not gonna lie, I was worryin’ about how things were goin’.” Dean admits. “Hey, could you put him on for a sec, I just wanna talk to him quickly.”

 

Immediately, Cas’s heart climbs into his gullet again, and his stomach curls into knots. “Oh, um,” Cas panics, looking around his room for inspiration, “he’s actually just heading into the bathroom.”

 

“Oh… okay.” Dean says, sounding a little on the suspicious side, to Cas’s horror.

 

“I’ll get him to call you later.” Cas says hurriedly, trying to squander Dean’s fears. “Or I could pass along a message?”

 

Dean sighs. “Later’s no good. We’re on a fifteen minute break from training.” He sighs again, and Cas chews his lip. “Honestly, I just wanted to hear about how it’s goin’ from him y’know? Not that I don’t believe you, o’course, just…”

 

“No, of course.” Cas assures him, understanding completely. “He definitely seems like he’s having a good time. We went to the coffee shop, saw Anna and the Theta Phi girls – they went crazy over Sam-”

 

“Woah, hold up.” Dean interrupts, a little rudely Cas can’t help but think. “You saw Anna and the rest of Theta Phi?”

 

“Yes, why?”

 

“Did they mention about the party tonight?”

 

Cas freezes, eyes going wide. Oh God, Dean’s going to see right through him.

 

“Um, briefly…”

 

“Shit.” Dean spits, muttering something Castiel doesn’t catch. “And I bet your idiotic brother is tryin’a convince Sammy to go, huh?”

 

“Dean, I’m not going to let anything happen to-”

 

“This is serious, Cas.” Dean interrupts again, and Castiel lets out a frustrated sigh through his nose. “I don’t want Sammy involved in all that Frat party, wild, crazy drugs, sex and booze stuff, alright? Not yet, not till he’s old enough at least.”

 

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel says in what he hopes is a reassuring tone. “I know you don’t want-”

 

“I’m countin’ on you, Cas.” Dean tells him, and Cas nearly buckles with the amount of responsibility just unloaded onto his shoulders. God, what is he going to do? “I gotta go. Coach is callin’ us back. I’ll see you later, alright?”

 

“Okay, Dean.” Cas says quietly. “Love you.”

 

He listens to the click symbolising the end of the call, and then, for a few moments, to the silence.

 

* * *

 

 

Cas decides to check a few more places before heading over to Theta Phi. It takes longer than he expects, especially lugging his overnight bag around with him, but it means he can check more possible places off his list.

 

He goes to the Roadhouse first, then back to the coffee shop, then the library once more just in case, then the student club, and finally, failing all else, back to the Psi Delta Alpha Frat house.

 

He dumps his bag down by the door, rolling his shoulders in relief to be rid of the thing, and after searching Dean’s, Gabriel’s and the Pledge’s rooms, decides that, yes, Sam and Gabe must indeed be at Theta Phi.

 

The party will have begun by now, Cas thinks, checking his watch, and with reluctance, and a fair amount of trepidation, he heads back out into the growing darkness of Fraternity Row. Theta Phi isn’t far from Psi Delta Alpha, Cas knows. He passes the Sorority house every time he walks to Dean’s, always marvelling a little at how neatly kept the porch and garden is, except after parties.

 

The house is cute and girly, a peach colour on the outside with tall cream pillars, their large, golden Greek letters balanced almost precariously on the porch roof, intimidating in their size.

 

When Castiel approaches the house this time, once again feeling mildly daunted by its size – which is a fair bit larger than the Psi Delta Alpha Fraternity house, and that’s saying something – he hears the steady, vibrating boom of music, along with shrieks of laughter and chatter from inside.

 

Multi-coloured lights pour out of the windows, flashing onto the street, illuminating Cas in red, green, blue, orange as he walks up the steps to the wide open front door.

 

As he crosses the threshold, he feels someone grabbing at his pant-leg, and looks down in surprise to see Charlie, the scarlet-haired girl from Gabriel’s room, sat on the porch with some dimly lit friends.

 

She is smoking, again. Castiel doesn’t have any doubt as to what. “Hey! It’s baby Novak!”

 

Castiel smiles awkwardly, waving at her, and she tugs him again, so he moves towards her a little. “Hello, Charlie.”

 

“Hullo, Castiel.” She says in a deep voice, presumably an impersonation of him, and then she giggles. “Here, hot stuff, join our two toke pass.”

 

She hands him the joint before he can think to refuse, and Cas sighs, wondering if there’s any point in denying how badly he wants to take the edge off his anxiety right now. Who knows what he’s going to find inside this house? Sam could be on the floor as they speak, belly button full of clear liquor as girls line up to lap it up eagerly, doing lines of powder off someone's bare ass, or throwing up various, multi-coloured, jellified liquor into one of the Theta Phi toilets.

 

How would Dean ever forgive him if that were the case?

 

He gives in immediately, drawing deeply on the spliff, and, though it burns like hell, holds his breath for a few seconds before releasing. Then, as Charlie had specified – ‘two tokes’ – he does it again.

 

“You’re a natural, kid!” Charlie says, laughing as she plucks the spliff out of his hand, then laughing harder as Cas coughs into the crook of his elbow. “Don’t worry, you'll stop doing that after a while.”

 

“Thank you, Charlie.” Cas croaks when he is able, eyes wet with tears, and she gives him a peace sign in response, grinning and turning back to her friends.

 

Cas figures this is his cue to leave, and finds himself once again in that fairly loose, almost dreamlike state as he tries. He is careful to place one foot before the other, wary of losing balance, and soon finds that he is in the midst of a great throng of people, no longer able to even see his feet thanks to the flash of the lights all around him, and the closely intermingling bodies pressed against him from all sides.

 

Right, his brain tells him through the mist that is his mind, find Sam. So Cas ploughs forwards, stumbling into people randomly, most of whom laugh it off, catch him with their grabby, clammy hands, shout things at him that Cas can’t seem to make sense of, though sometimes he catches his name over the roar of the bassline.

 

He eventually makes it across what he now sees is a spacious sort of living-area-turned-dancefloor, and breathes heavily, feeling as though he’s just swum the channel. He tries to orientate himself, finding it increasingly difficult, especially as everything around him is so vivid, so filled with sights and smells and sounds – how can his brain hope to comprehend it all?

 

He walks forwards almost blindly, losing control of his limbs multiple times. Perhaps he should have a drink, he thinks, it is a party after all. Would alcohol lessen or worsen the effects of the pot?

 

Suddenly, everything is much brighter, and he squints, realising he is now in the kitchen, where the overhead light glares. This room too, is teeming with people, some of whom call out to him, but Cas pays them no mind. Unless he can see Gabriel or Sam in this room, it is of no use to him. He moves forwards, clutching onto a countertop, glad to have something steady to hold onto as the room dances around him.

 

“Cas!” A vaguely familiar voice exclaims, and Castiel looks upwards to his left, finding the source. Anna sits cross-legged on one of the countertops beside him, drinking beer out of an emerald glass bottle. “You made it! Thought you’d have _better things to do_.”

 

She winks at him again, laughing confidently, open-mouthed and beautiful, her long red hair spilling around her shoulders. Castiel both envies and adores her in that next moment, just gazing back at her, saying nothing. Her face grows concerned, eyebrows knitting together. She places a pale, delicate hand on his shoulder.

 

“Are you alright, Cas?” She asks, quieter now, very obviously worried about him. Goddamn it, Cas thinks, why is she so _lovely?_ It’s not fair. “Do you want me to take you some place quiet?”

 

He manages to shake his head, shrugging her hand off his shoulder in impatience. He’s fine, dammit. He’s just disoriented. And on a mission.

 

“No.” He says at last. “No, thank you. Anna, I need to find Sam and Gabriel, have you seen them?”

 

“Yeah, of course.” Anna says, taking a birdlike sip of beer. “They’ve been here practically since you left earlier. I thought they would’ve told you?”

 

Castiel, still gripping the countertop, grits his teeth, shaking his head. “I’m afraid my dear brother has chosen to ignore my phone calls all day.”

 

Anna’s mouth falls open, almost comically so. Castiel suppresses an inappropriate giggle. “Oh, God, Cas I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t know. Gabe swore to me you were cool with it, that he’d talked you round-”

 

“It’s fine.” Castiel cuts her off, a little rudely he’s aware, but he can’t stand to hear her apologising. She’d apologised to him personally over the whole Dean affair, and he hadn’t been able to stomach it then either. “I just need to find him.”

 

“Of course.” Anna agrees. “They’re around somewhere. Check the pillowfight room, I think I saw them in there last.”

 

“Pillowfight room?” Castiel repeats, eyebrows raised. Images of snuggling up in a mess of squishy, feather-strewn cushions fill his brain. Oh, if only he could.

 

Anna grins. “It was Ruby’s idea.”

 

“Okay.” Castiel says, defeated, knowing he must now move once more. “I’ll check in there.”

 

“Good luck!” Anna calls after him as Cas stumbles away.

 

* * *

 

 

The pillowfight room is surprisingly hard to find. Cas blunders in circles through the rooms on the ground level at least three times before realising the house isn’t, in fact, endless. He manages somehow to make it out into the entrance hall again, comforted by the familiarity of it – it’s very similar to the one in Dean’s Frat house.

 

Just like in Psi Delta Alpha, there’s a large staircase in the centre, this one in a dramatic spiral, leading to the upstairs. Castiel holds on to the banister for a moment, gathering himself, and trying to reason with his addled mind.

 

Thinking about it, it would make perfect sense to have a ‘pillowfight room’ on the upper level, considering that’s where pillows are usually found. So, if Sam and Gabriel are in such a room, Castiel will find them – surely – by climbing this staircase.

 

Before he can put his decision into action, Castiel feels a sharp tug on the waistband of his jeans, and spins, slightly alarmed, back pressed against the foot of the banister.

 

A boy has a finger hooked in Castiel’s belt loop. Cas looks down at said finger, bewildered, wondering what on earth it hopes to achieve.

 

“Well, isn’t it my lucky day.” The boy says in an unpleasant, sultry voice that reminds Castiel of ectoplasm in some of the movies Dean has shown him.

 

Cas raises his eyes meet the boy’s again, and realises for the first time that his face is not unfamiliar. Castiel knows this boy, has seen him before. He squints at him in confusion, trying to work out when they met the first time.

 

“What are you-” Castiel starts to say, and cuts himself off with a gasp as the boy steps even closer, grabbing hold of Castiel’s hips.

 

Cas’s brain isn’t moving fast enough, he can’t react as he would normally, what in the world is happening? He places his own hands on the boy’s wrists, pushing downwards, trying to get the boy to stop, but he holds firm.

 

“C’mon, sexy,” the boy says to him, smirking horribly, “everyone knows what a good lay you are, how much you like it, how you beg for it with that dumbass Winchester. I just want my turn.”

 

“Get off me.” Cas manages to blurt out, suddenly realising the severity of the situation he’s in; nobody is even paying them any attention, this guy is a perv, dangerous, and intimidatingly strong. Cas couldn’t hope to fight him off normally, let alone in the state he's in now.

 

“Don’t play with me.” The boy says, his voice sterner now. “I know this is all part of your fucked up little sex game.” His fingers trace around the back of Cas’s ear, and Cas shudders, trying desperately to move away. “You say ‘no’, but really you mean _yes._ ”

 

The boy leans in then, bringing their faces close, and Cas can taste his sour breath. The boy is repulsive, and Cas yelps, shoving hard against him, trying to move away.

 

“Hey!” A voice yells from not far behind them. The boy sighs, stopping with reluctance, menace in his eyes. Cas whispers a silent prayer of thanks as the boy turns around. “What the Heck are you playing at, Bart? Are you nuts? Winchester’ll have your dick!”

 

As the mysterious hero edges closer, Cas recognises him – tall, skinny, perpetually stoned looking. It’s Garth. Cas prays again in that second, wishing that Garth will never have to contend with anything else in his life, that he can smoke weed and be free and happy forever.

 

Cas looks warily back at his attacker. Cas still doesn’t have enough room to escape, the boy’s hands are still on his hips. Garth had said his name, Cas thinks, running the words back through his mind. Bart, was that it?

 

“Yeah, well let him try.” Bart snarls back at Garth, finally turning around completely, releasing his hold on Cas’s hips.

 

Cas doesn’t think twice, he breaks free, hurtling up the stairs, taking them two at a time, tripping more than once. He just wants to be as far away from that boy as possible. God, he wishes Dean were here.

 

Up on the landing, Cas lets a few tears fall from his eyes. It’s mostly the shock, he tells himself. Being treated like that, there’s nothing that could have ever prepared him for it, and he feels sick, dirty, wrong, even though it wasn’t his fault.

 

He tries not to think about what Bart had said to him, about how ‘everyone knows’ about his apparent promiscuity. How word goes around about Cas being…

 

He feels bile rise in his throat. He wishes Dean were here.

 

* * *

 

 

He finds the pillowfight room at last, it’s around the fifth door he tries. He’s not entirely sure what to expect when he enters, but when he does, he realises that it’s a half-correct name for a room.

 

For starters, there are more pillows in here than Cas has ever seen in once place at any given time. It’s a pillowheaven, for sure, but Cas definitely notes the lack of any fights.

 

Instead, people sit and sprawl on the pillows all around, drinking heavily, and seemingly playing some sort of game. There’s a bottle involved, which is regularly spun, and a deck of cards, and many shots all placed in a circle. Cas tries to follow along for a while, to work out the rules, but gets lost several times. It seems that the rules may even be unclear to the players.

 

Nevertheless, the bottle is spun for the sixth time, and it lands, to Cas’s horror, on a young boy with long, straggly brown hair, who looks to the person on his left in fear.

 

The person on his left is, of course, Gabriel. He grins excitedly, wiggling his eyebrows at the younger Winchester.

 

“Gabe!” Castiel yells across the room, the moment he lays eyes on his brother, and Gabriel looks up in shock, the colour draining from his face.

 

“Oh, God.” Gabriel says. “Wait, Cassy, kill me in like two minutes could you? I’m about to-”

 

But Castiel is already storming across the room, pillows flying in his wake, his expression murderous he’s aware. Thinking better of it, he bends down and grabs the biggest pillow he can find, and with as much force as he can muster, whacks Gabriel around the head.

 

His brother is knocked backwards onto a soft pile with a satisfying ‘whumph’.

 

“Cas- Cas, pleash don’ be mad," Sam starts to try and say, "I jus’ reeeally wanted t’go an-”

 

“Shut up, Sam.” Castiel orders, seriously not in the mood for any bullshit. “I don’t wanna hear it. If you expect me to keep this from your brother, I suggest you follow me out the door right now.”

 

Sam starts to get to his feet without a word of protest, a little shakily Cas can’t help but notice. How much has he had to drink? Cas vaguely registers out of the corner of his eye that Gabriel seems to have passed out amongst the cushions, clearly too drunk to be able to withstand being hit with a pillow.

 

“Wh-what about Gabe?” Sam mumbles vaguely, but Cas ignores him, rolling his eyes at this whole scenario.

 

“Clarence, what are you doing?” Meg calls as Cas helps Sam to his feet, the two of them wobbling a fair bit due to the various substances they’ve ingested, not to mention the uneven, soft floor. “Leave the kid, he’s fun.”

 

"Plus Jes'll be pissed if you take away her new boytoy." Ruby chimes in, giggling, and a girl with blonde curly hair hurls a cushion at her. 

 

"I luh you Jess!" Sam declares, extending a hand towards the blonde girl, who laughs, blowing him a kiss.

 

Castiel just shoots Ruby and Meg a glare, noting that they are for some reason in their underwear. Meg smirks at him in response, wicked and mischievous; Cas grimaces and turns away.

 

It’s right then that things take a turn for the worst.

 

If Castiel had to describe what happened next, he'd say that the very atmosphere suddenly shifted. The ambience from before, with the light-hearted drinking games and flirtatious pillow throwing disappears, and in it's wake is what Cas can only describe as a chill. A feeling of something off-kilter, like the calm before the storm. 

 

Whilst restraining Sam from drunkenly molesting this 'Jess', who seems endlessly amused by the entire thing, Cas vaguely notices a large group of people entering the pillow fight room. He barely registers it, too intent on getting Sam out of this place, on sobering him up and hopefully doing enough so that Dean might forgive him. 

 

“Well now, look what we got in here!” A loud, boisterous and vaguely familiar voice booms from behind Castiel, and for some reason, Cas shivers, sensing a bad omen. “Winchester 2.0! Little young to be hittin’ up a Frat party, ain’t ya?”

 

Castiel whirls round on the spot, head spinning with the fast movement, and all the blood drains from his face as he takes in the group of people who just entered.

 

The boys from Kappa Sigma. Dean had warned them about these people, they’re bad news. Alaistair, the same guy who tripped Sam up in the Roadhouse is the one talking, clearly the Alpha of the pack.

 

“’m not _young!”_ Sam practically yells in response, arms folding together defiantly as he pouts at Alaistair; Cas closes his eyes in horror. The Kappa Sigma boys crack up laughing on cue. Castiel wills Sam to shut the Hell up before he makes this any worse. “I’m seventeen! _An’_  I can drink jus’ as much as _anyone here._ As much as Dean can, easy!”

 

Castiel mentally facepalms, registering with dismay the raised eyebrows on each of the Kappa Sigma boys’ faces, all of them looking very much as though they've been challenged. Alaistair takes a step forward, fist clenching the beer can in his hand so it crumples, and he throws it to the floor.

 

An obvious power play, showing off his strength, Cas thinks, stomach winding itself into knots. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Ruby and Meg huddled together on some cushions, a wicked glint in their eyes, grinning madly, loving all the tension.

 

“Is that right, Dean Junior?” Alaistair asks Sam, getting very close to him now.

 

Sam scoffs, a puff of air from his lips making his long hair flutter. “My name is _Sam.”_

Right, Cas thinks, that’s it, time to step in. He takes a deep breath, heart pounding with how much he hates confrontation of any sort, and places himself between Sam and Alaistair, a hand up in a sort of surrender.

 

“Please, Alaistair, don’t listen to him.” Castiel urges, looking the brute deep in the eyes. “He’s had a lot to drink already. Let me just take him home, we don’t want any trouble.”

 

Alaistair is grinning from ear to ear by the time Cas has finished his plea.

 

“Well, doesn’t this just get better and better?” He sneers, his voice loud enough that everyone in the room can hear, possibly everyone on the planet Cas thinks, his ears ringing. “Not only do we have Winchester’s baby brother to play with, but we also got his li’l fuck buddy!”

 

Castiel tries hard not to let the words affect him, but he can’t help but think of Sam, just behind him, what his reaction must be. Is this really how people view his and Dean’s relationship? For all he knows it is.

 

The rest of the Kappa Sigma boys make sounds of encouragement at Alaistair’s words, and Cas glances over at them, trying to just breathe. It’s then that he spots a few recognisable faces.

 

The predatory guy from downstairs, Bart, stands at the front of the group, unashamedly staring at Cas with a bile-inducing, x-ray gaze. Just to his left, one arm resting casually on Bart’s shoulder stands Balthazar, Cas realises, feeling sick – another one of Cas’s hideous past mistakes.

 

So they’re friends then, Cas deduces, looking sharply away when they both wink and smile at him. Fantastic.

 

“Whaddya think we should do with them, boys?” Alaistair asks, still staring at Cas, far too close to him for comfort.

 

“Can I deal with the slut?” Bart’s voice asks, and Alaistair turns to grimace at him.

 

“God, Bart, are you ever not horny?” Castiel looks up in time to see Bart laugh and shrug, as though the things he’s saying aren’t monstrous.

 

Alaistair sighs, waving a hand in the air. “Do what you gotta do. But I think the rest of us should see what li’l Sammy here is made of, huh?”

 

Castiel turns to look at Sam, instantly registers the look of queasiness on his face. The kid’s not gonna manage one more drink, let alone whatever this lot have planned.

 

“Keg stand!” Someone yells, and the room descends into a chorus of cheers and ‘yes’s’.

 

Oh shit, Castiel thinks. Oh, shit, shit shit.

 

He looks from Sam to the Kappa Sigma boys, his mind running a mile a minute trying to figure out how to get out of the situation. Maybe if he can wake Gabriel up – a task that’s sure to fail considering how out for the count he clearly is – he could help Cas control things.

 

But how good is Gabriel at controlling anything outside of his strict porn schedule? Think, Cas shouts at himself internally, even as Sam is being ushered out of the room, down the stairs towards the kegs. Think!

 

And then there’s a hand on his ass, and a pungent, sour smell way too close to his face, quickly followed by two dark, nightmarish eyes.

 

Oh, why won’t this guy leave him alone?!

 

With all his might, Castiel pushes hard against Bartholomew’s chest, and runs for the door, following Sam as fast as his legs will carry him.

 

* * *

 

 

This is not happening. It can’t be. Sam is upside-down, legs held aloft by Balthazar and Alaistair, a keg tap stuffed in his mouth, his forehead a soft crimson from the blood rushing to it.

 

In another situation, it might be comical how Sam’s hair falls past his scalp like the head of a mop, or how beer trickles every few seconds into his nose, making him splutter and almost choke.

 

But this is not funny. Sam is a minor, and more than that, he is Dean’s sweet, innocent baby brother that Cas is entirely responsible for right now.

 

“Let him down!” Cas yells for the zillionth time at the crowd surrounding Sam, his words lost in the chorus of ‘chug, chug, chug’. “For Christ’s sake, that’s enough!”

 

Cas tries to fight his way past the compacted bodies, to grab at Sam’s clothing and pull him away- _anything_ , but he just can’t.

 

He sees Bart in the distance, eyeing him up yet again, and darts away from his current position, trying to get out of sight.

 

This is a literal nightmare. Cas buries his face in his hands, throwing caution to the wind and just praying. He has no plan, no option, no one to turn to - nothing. This is everything that could possibly go wrong, and the only thing to be thankful for is that it probably can't get any worse.

 

Everything seems to go sort of silent. Castiel wonders if he’s managed to actually will away the world. God, wouldn’t that be preferable right now. He doesn't want to look yet, so he keeps his hands firmly over his eyes. Perhaps his praying worked and there really has been a sort of divine intervention? 

 

Slowly, Cas slides his fingers down his face, peering out. He sees the crowd parting, shame-faced, fear in their expressions. He hears loud, indecipherable yelling in a pitch he recognises very well, but he still doesn’t understand what’s going on.

 

He sees Alaistair’s face, smug and triumphant as he releases his hold on Sam at last, letting the kid fall ungracefully to the floor.

 

It’s then that he understands. As he watches Sam’s older brother rush to his aid, sling one of the kid’s arms around his shoulders and help him stand, he realises what's going on. Not that the realisation helps. If anything, Castiel's heart sinks further, his knees weaken, and his breath catches in his throat.

 

Dean is here.

 

That’s why no one dares speak a word. The party-goers retreat hastily, moving to other rooms of the Theta Phi house, out of the way of the fury so clearly evident in Dean Winchester’s body language.

 

Cas doesn’t have it in him to go with them, though in hindsight he thinks that might have been a more sensible option. As Dean walks Sam carefully away from the keg, he meets Cas’s eyes.

 

Cas has to look away. He can’t take the look of betrayal, anger, disappointment there when he’s so used to seeing love.

 

“Come on.” Dean spits at him, and Cas knows he must follow, so he does, ignoring the staring faces as they leave the party.

 

What people will say about tonight will undoubtedly be blown wildly out of proportion, but who knows – maybe Cas will be dead by then anyway. He casts a final glance backward, taking in the sight of the Kappa Sigma boys huddled around the keg, smirking, high fiving, so proud of what they’ve done.

 

Bart blows him a kiss, and to Cas it feels like a promise that all is not over, that this war between the two houses will end in his, Dean’s and who knows who else’s destruction.

 

He turns towards Dean again, making out two figures up ahead, out of the house now, on the street outside.

 

As he looks, Sam bends sharply forward, clutches his stomach, and throws his guts up onto the floor.

 

Oh God.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, just occasionally, something good comes out of a world of crap.

Cas can’t remember a time before yelling. How long has he been sat here, on the couch in the Psi Delta Alpha living room while Dean shouts, every one of his accusations like a corrugated knife edge slicing through Castiel's flesh.

 

“I mean, what were you _thinking_?!” Dean asks at a decibel that is surely unnecessary.  At this rate he’ll wake up the whole of Fraternity Row. Though, Cas supposes, that may not be an issue, considering they are all probably at Anna’s party, witnesses of the catastrophe that is this spectacularly awful night. “He’s a _kid_!”

 

Castiel says nothing, just lets Dean lay into him. What would be the point in trying to defend himself? What would he even say? That it was all Gabriel’s fault? Castiel isn’t the type of guy to lumber the blame onto someone else just to get off scot-free. He picks at a loose thread on the worn sofa, trying to focus on that instead of the words Dean is spewing at him. 

 

Heck, Cas is willing to accept fault here. He's not waving a flag of innocence by any means, but does he really deserve this level of punishment? Maybe, he supposes.  He shouldn’t have taken that spliff, for one thing. That didn’t help anything. He should have  tried harder to persuade Gabriel to stay at home, or just had better control over his brother in the first place. 

 

At the very least, he should have found Gabe and Sam sooner instead of wasting time in his room, or looking round the library for the millionth time. He should have known his brother's mind better, seen the obvious after Sam was so excited in the coffee shop when the party was mentioned. There's no excuse for Cas's stupidity there, he tells himself. Perhaps he does deserve the brunt of Dean's wrath. 

 

“I can’t believe this, Cas!” Dean continues, hands flailing as he talks, pacing the floor angrily in front of the sofa. “I trusted you with him, I thought you, of all people, would keep him safe, not feed him to the-”

 

“Dean…” A soft, broken voice croaks from the doorway.

 

It’s Sam. Or rather a pale, haggard, miserable version of him. He leans against the frame for support, one hand around his stomach still. Cas sees vomit in strands of his hair.

 

Dean goes to him immediately, propping him up with an arm while Sam winces. “You okay, Sammy? Think you’re done bein’ sick now?”

 

“Yeah…” Sam says, though he looks uncertain.

 

“Sorry I didn’t hold your hair back, buddy.” Dean tells him, picking up one of the sick covered strands with his thumb and forefinger, a look of disgust on his face. Sam smiles weakly. “Thought you’d think it was kinda girly.”

 

“That’s ok, Dean.” Sam says, taking a deep breath. He meets Cas’s eyes for a second, then looks away, ashamed, or so it seems. “Um, I’m really tired.”

 

“Yeah, course.” Dean says, nodding. “I’ll help you upstairs.”

 

Cas watches as they walk out of the room together, their pace as slow and careful as a tortoise taking its last steps in this world. Dean shoots Cas a stern look as he goes by.

 

“We’ll talk more later.”

 

Cas nods very slightly, then looks away before Dean can see the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

 

Later can mean lots of things, Cas thinks to himself as he hears footsteps ascending the stairs. It can mean ten minutes, an hour, or even days. He casts a glance over towards the door, his heart lurching into his throat a little as he notices his overnight bag resting against the wall, forlorn and forgotten, pointless now. Dean obviously doesn’t want him here anyway, not if the disgust in his voice is anything to go by. He can’t stand the sight of Cas, or so it seems.

 

Cas takes a deep breath, getting shakily to his feet. He walks to the door, picking up his bag on the way. A couple of tears spill over, marking the panelled wooden floor with two slightly darker pinpricks, invisible unless you looked for them. He's made his decision. 

 

If Dean wants to talk ‘later’, he can come and find him.

 

* * *

 

 

“There y’are, princess.” Dean says as he pulls the covers over Sam on his makeshift bed. “All tucked up. Need a goodnight kiss?”

 

“…such an asshole.” Sam breathes, his eyes already fluttering closed. Dean can’t help but smile a little.

 

God, he’s so relieved that Sam is okay. He feels like an anxious mother – he could literally stay here for hours just to check Sam keeps breathing, to make sure he doesn’t wake up and want for anything.

 

Dean’s heard of people choking on their own vomit after heavy nights out, waking up dead as a doornail. The idea winds his innards into further knots, on top of those that he's carried inside him for years, all twisted and tight with worry for Sammy. _Is he hungry? Do the other kids make fun of him? Is he doing well enough at school? Is Dad making things hard for him?_ Worry, worry, worry.

 

To think that Sam could have been in serious danger tonight if Dean hadn’t gotten there in time - he can barely stomach the thought. What if Dean had gotten home a little later from practice, not realised that Cas, Sam and Gabe weren’t in the Psi Delta Alpha Frat house until after he’d showered or had a nap? He could be beside Sam’s hospital bed right now.

 

Or identifying his body.

 

That Cas would ever let something like this happen, it’s beyond what Dean can comprehend about the guy. The idea that Cas had been on the phone to him earlier, probably lying about what was going on, telling Dean everything was okay when in reality… Dean feels the anger bubbling up inside of him again, and his heart starts to pound.

 

Clearly Cas isn’t the person Dean thought he was. The thought makes him feel sick. 

 

Sam stirs slightly, his eyes opening a little. Dean feels a bit like he’s been caught creeping on his little brother, but Sam just stares up at him, mildly awestruck like always, though this time with a concerned look twisting his features.

 

He resembles a wise little baby owl, Dean thinks, amusedly, smiling back.

 

“Dean…” Sam near-whispers. “You’re pissed aren’t you?”

 

Dean looks skyward, sighing. “Sammy, I’m not happy with you, but let’s talk about it in the morning, alright?”

 

Sam chews his lip. “Okay.” Dean starts to move then, sighing again, already planning what he’s going to say to Cas when he gets downstairs- “But Dean?”

 

Dean pauses, looking down at Sam. “Yeah?”

 

“Just… don’t be pissed at Cas.” Sam says at length, wincing a little as though he expects Dean to explode. Instead, Dean's eyebrows knit together, confused. Say what? “He was tryin’ to stop me the whole time. I was the one who wanted to go to the party and…”

 

Sam trails off, and Dean raises an eyebrow, wondering what Sam’s avoiding saying. “And…?”

 

“Well, Gabe might’ve-”

 

“Oh, you've gotta be kidding me.” Dean growls, his voice low, but loud enough to have a couple of the other Pledges in the room stir. Dean vaguely wonders why they aren't at the party. “Gabe talked you into this?”

 

Sam winces again, nodding. “He said he wanted me to have a real college experience-”

 

“Oh, that fucker.” Dean says, voice laced with venom, and he chuckles thinking of all the ways that dickhead is going to pay. If Cas thought he had it bad, just wait until- wait a second, Dean thinks, eyes widening. Cas! Does this mean that Cas isn't to blame? “Wait, so Cas was tryin’a talk you out of it?”

 

“Yeah, really, the whole time.” Sam says, nodding emphatically to demonstrate how sincerely he means this. “It took him a while coz Gabe switched his phone off, but Cas came and found me. He tried to take me home, but the Kappa Sigma guys got me to do a keg stand with them, and, hey, that was actually really cool-”

 

“Found you?” Dean asks, cutting of Sam's drunken ramblings about kegs and Kappa's. He needs to know about Cas. “What do you mean? When were you guys apart?”

 

Sam bites his lip again, cringing as though he knows Dean will be mad at what he’s about to say. A door clicks shut downstairs, breaking the strained silence, the noise unmistakeably filled with a sadness that fills Dean's heart with regret.  

 

“Fuck.” Dean utters, turning his head towards the sound, a pained expression on his features. Shit, what has he done? “Cas.” Dean buries his face in his hands, cursing his quick temper, his instinct to cuss out anyone who he sees crossing him or Sam without hearing the facts. “Wow, this is a mess.” He looks down at Sam, who has the covers pulled up to his sorrowful eyes. “Did I just yell at my boyfriend for an hour for trying to fix the mess you and Gabriel created?”

 

Damn Sam’s puppy dog expression, Dean thinks, cursing internally as Sam fails to respond verbally. How is Dean ever supposed to stay mad at this kid? He looks so damn apologetic. Dean sighs heavily, and Sam closes his eyes in defeat.

 

“Alright, go to sleep. But you’re tellin’ me the whole story tomorrow – the truth.” Dean stares Sam down until he nods, just a little. Under Dean's glare, he places his head back down on the pillow obediently.

 

“By the way Dean,” Sam says around a yawn, “you know those Kappa guys? I think you should give them another chance. They're a lot of fun.”

 

Dean balks at that half-intelligible statement, not knowing how to process the words. He seriously hopes that was drunk talk because it makes his own head swim and he’s entirely sober. It seems to be the last thing Sam can say however, as moments later the kid is snoring softly.

 

“Man, Sammy,” Dean says quietly to himself, still reeling from an onslaught of information, not to mention drama, “you sure know how to make an entrance.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dean is psyching himself up all the way over to Cas’s dorm room the following morning. Right, Dean says to himself, trying to be rational. Let’s be honest, Cas has probably had one of two reactions to last night's debacle - either he's pissed as all hell, ready to smite Dean with his granite stare the moment he approaches, or he's sinking into self-deprecation right now, tears of guilt soaking into his pillow as he takes a leaf from Dean's well-thumbed book, and blames himself. Dean honestly isn't sure which is more likely. He's known Cas have both reactions in the past, it's always difficult to predict which one will surface at any given time.    

 

To play it safe, Dean is queuing at the coffee shop, Cas's favourite drinks order memorised and at the ready for when the barista asks him. Coffee helps people in times of sadness, anger, happiness - heck, coffee just  _helps._

 

Dean orders himself an Americano as well, because he is also in need of some caffeine-related support right now, given what he has found out this morning, and how guilty he now feels for yelling at Cas as a result. From what Dean’s gathered of Sam’s story in between groans of pain as his little brother leaned elegantly over a toilet bowl, Cas spent the entire day yesterday trying to do exactly what Dean asked of him.

 

Cas’s efforts however, according to Sam – and Dean has no qualms about torturing the kid for information through vivid descriptions of greasy pork sandwiches served up in dirty ash trays until he hurled again – had been thwarted by Sam and Gabriel’s scheming to ditch him at the earliest opportunity.  This arose when Cas had to go to class - and God does Dean feel like a dick of a boyfriend for lumbering the guy with Sam and conveniently forgetting Castiel has a life too. 

 

Upon finding his brother and boyfriend’s brother had disappeared on him, Cas apparently then spent hours searching for them in every place he could think of before discovering them at Anna’s, where he promptly knocked Gabriel out with a pillow, and tried to drag Sam home.

 

And what did the poor guy get for all his trouble? A run in with the biggest dickheads on the planet – the Kappa Sigma’s – who must've said or done God only knows what to him considering his relationship to their worst enemy, followed by the biggest, most undeserving telling off from the man of the hour, Dean himself.

 

"Soya capuccino and an Americano no milk?" The barista calls, and Dean raises his hand, taking the drinks with a nod. Okay, he thinks to himself, turning to the door. Time to face the music. God, he is not looking forward to this. 

 

Okay, Dean thinks as he walks, burning the tip of his tongue on the scorching coffee as he tries to drink in motion, so Cas still lied to him on the phone. Dean is still mildly annoyed about that, but he understands why Cas did it. Because Cas knows Dean pretty well, and was probably well aware of how much Dean would freak out if he knew Sam was nowhere to be found.

 

All things considered, Dean must admit he doesn’t blame Cas for not telling him. Dean’s been in such a pissy mood recently anyway that he undoubtedly would have shot the messenger. Cas probably knew this more than anyone. He's been getting the brunt of Dean's temper for too long now. 

 

Dean sighs, wishing he could do something to relieve all the stress piled onto him so that he stops being such a grumpy, unpleasant fucker. What with keeping Sam happy and out of harm's way, his job at the garage, Crowley looming over his head every time his grades even start to slip, and the pressure Bobby keeps putting on him over trying to secure a place in the NFL after the final game of the season... it's a lot to deal with.

 

At least smoothing things over with Cas should make things a little better, Dean thinks, smiling a little as he always does when he thinks of the guy. 

 

Cas is always so happy to see him, no matter what. When Dean enters the room, a match behind Cas's eyes is struck, illuminating their brilliance, drowning Dean in oceans of crystal clear blue. And if he's not happy, he's hungry, Dean thinks with a smirk, hungry for something he won't accept from anyone else but Dean. Sometimes, when Dean catches Cas staring, notes that the flames behind his eyes have spread, roaring, flickering, consuming him as Cas locks his gaze... sometimes that's even better. 

 

God, Dean is lucky, he thinks to himself, still smiling when he approaches Cas's building. Oh crap, he thinks, the smile falling away as he remembers everything that's happened. Yeah, Cas makes him happy, makes all the stress he's under seem practically trivial, but Cas isn't gonna stick around much longer if Dean keeps screwing things up. He has to do better. And right now, he has to grovel. 

 

Becky greets him at the door to the floor of Cas’s dorm, a glint in her eye because she must sense trouble is brewing.

 

“Hi, Dean.” She chirps, far too excited to be considered normal. “You’re in trouble.”

 

Dean sighs, trying to move past her and failing. “Hi, Becky. Is Cas in his room?”

 

She nods, biting her lip, still smiling away. “He came home _very_ upset last night. What did you do?!”

 

“Becky, as much as I’d love to stay and chat…”

 

“Do you wanna see my new fanfiction of you and Castiel?” Becky asks excitedly, a somewhat strange non-sequitur some might say, but then again – this is Becky. “I only ask because it’s really angsty. A perfect parallel of what you’re going through I bet.”

 

Dean tries not to look too horrified. “Oh, um… yeah, I’ll take a look at it later.”

 

“Ohmygosh, you will?!” Becky exclaims, and at once Dean gets the sinking impression that not many people actually say yes to this request. Why did he have to agree? “I’ll go get it now! Wait right here.”

 

Dean raps on Cas’s door the moment she leaves, urging Cas to answer quickly, for the love of God.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel hears the voices outside before the knock sounds against his door. Of course, he half expected it, considering what Dean had said last night about talking further in regards to the whole party debacle.

 

He decides to take his time answering the knock, prolonging the inevitable he knows, but it’s still nice to relish the few moments of freedom and solitude before the shouting begins again. He slides on his slippers (a present from his grandmother), runs a hand through his hair, and casts a tired look around his messy room. Does it even matter that it's messy? Dean's probably going to come in, yell a bit, then leave straight away. Cas doubts he'll be taking any notice of how clean and tidy the surroundings are. 

 

He opens the door slowly, and sure enough, there stands Dean, clutching two paper coffee cups and looking anxious, throwing nervous glances over his shoulder - a clear sign that Becky is nearby, Castiel thinks, smirking a little. He can't help it, the ridiculousness of the fear in Dean's eyes would cheer anyone's mood. Though it is irritating that Dean Winchester - of course - manages to look so devastating even as he dithers helplessly in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot with his eagerness to escape the no-man's land of the hall. 

 

“Cas, hey, look – I know I’m a dick and everything, but could you let me in?” Dean asks sincerely, looking almost petrified. Cas frowns at the wording, attempting to sort through it. “Becky’s comin’ back with some of her fanfiction of us and I would really rather not… y’know, indulge in that.” Dean pauses, shrugging as he looks skyward for a moment. "Not that it wouldn't be hot..." Cas watches with narrowed eyes as Dean's runaway brain seems to land back on this earthly plane. "But now is just not the time. It's like ten thirty in the morning, and the stuff Becky writes is downright _scary_. So if you could just let me in-" 

 

Castiel sighs, shrugging, the small smile on his lips falling away at last, and steps aside to let Dean in. What choice does he have? He can’t avoid Dean forever. He just wishes Dean could know how badly Cas already feels about the situation. Having Dean mad at him only makes it a thousand times worse.

 

He closes the door behind them, and Dean thrusts one of the coffee cups towards him, startling him.

 

“Oh.” Castiel says awkwardly, taking the coffee. “Thank you. You didn’t have to-”

 

“Cas, before you say anything.” Dean interrupts, and Cas sighs, resigning himself to another round in the ring, and moving to sit cross-legged on his bed. Dean sits on the wheelie chair, facing him. Cas looks him in the eye, wearily. At least he's pretty to look at, even when mad. “I was wrong.”

 

Cas blinks at him, trying to decipher that statement. Where’s the anger from last night? Why isn’t Dean highlighting all the reasons Cas should feel guilty? What’s happening?

 

“No,” Cas says slowly, shaking his head, wondering if Dean has simply forgotten what happened yesterday, “you put me in charge of Sam-”

 

“Which wasn’t fair in the first place.” Dean says, cutting him off again. “I mean, no disrespect to you Cas, because in lots of ways I think you’re a lot more mature than most guys my age, but you’re only a year older than Sam.”

 

Cas sips his coffee quietly, contemplating Dean’s words. He hasn’t really thought of it that way before. He did feel an enormous, almost crippling sense of responsibility looking after Sam, he supposes. Maybe Dean could be on to something here.

 

“I’ve taken care of him my whole life, so I’m used to it, but you shouldn’t have to look out for _my_  little brother, that’s stupid.” Dean places a hand hesitantly on Cas’s knee, and Cas immediately tenses, not sure whether he wants it there. It’s confusing when Dean touches him - it makes everything else seem trivial.

 

But this is not trivial. This is a very real fight over something very serious, and they need to work things out. Perhaps against his better judgement, Cas lets the hand stay where it is.

 

“It was wrong of me to put that responsibility on you,” Dean says, “and it was wrong of me to blame you when things went wrong.”

 

Cas takes another sip of coffee. It’s really good, just the way he likes it. He sighs, wishing things were as simple as Dean is making them out to be. But he’s not blameless. He wishes he were. Dean is being far too nice to him. “But if I’d managed to talk Gabriel out of it,” Castiel argues, “or defended Sam better in front of the Kappa Sigma boys-”

 

“You can’t be blamed for your dick of a brother, or for the even bigger dicks over at Kappa Sigma.” Dean’s hand finds Cas’s, slightly hesitantly, unsure, but Cas threads their fingers together nonetheless. “Sam told me everythin’ that happened yesterday. I’m sorry you had to deal with all this without me. You didn’t ask for any of this after all.” Dean shoots Cas a weak smile. “Told you I came with baggage.”

 

Castiel feels a tear slip from his eye. He wasn’t even aware he was that upset. Is Dean really not angry with him? Is this really going to be okay? He feels undeserving of this. Dean might refer to him as ‘angel’, but Cas knows himself well, and he’s no saint. He can’t accept that there’s nothing he could have done differently yesterday to ensure Sam didn’t end up at the mercy of the Kappa Sigma boys, or even at the mercy of Gabriel.

 

Then again, Dean makes sense – what should he be blamed for? For trying his best to keep Sam from doing the things he shouldn’t? For scouring the campus for him and Gabriel for hours on end, calling them over and over, trying his best to ensure Dean needn’t worry about a thing? Perhaps he really isn’t at fault here.

 

Then he remembers something. Oh fuck, he thinks, shoulders slumping as Dean looks confusedly at him. He knew he couldn’t get out of this without Dean being annoyed.

 

Well, Cas thinks. He has to tell Dean. There’s no point in trying to hide it. “I... I smoked pot yesterday.”

 

Dean’s brow furrows further. “Huh? When?”

 

“At the party, before I found your brother.” Castiel confesses, looking down at his toes. “Charlie included me briefly in her two-toke pass, and I-”

 

Castiel is interrupted by the sound of Dean chuckling. He looks up in surprise.

 

“Man, you’re turnin’ into quite the little stoner, huh?” Dean asks, clearly amused. “It’s kinda hot, actually. You’d suit the whole hippy thing. I’ll get you some incense for your room. Maybe a beaded curtain.”

 

Castiel can’t quite believe that Dean is okay with him being high whilst searching for Sam, let alone that he finds it _funny,_ but whatever. He's not going to rock the boat. 

 

“Yeah? You think it’d be hot?” Cas asks, half joking, though he’s aware he’s looking at Dean through his lashes.

 

“Definitely.” Dean responds, smirking back at him, the expression on his face making Cas shiver.

 

“S-so where are Sam and Gabe?” Cas asks, trying to move the conversation into safer territory.

 

He still doesn’t know what the boundaries are here. Dean seems to have forgiven everything, swept it under the rug. It’s a little dizzying to say the least – after all, it was only a short time ago that Cas was lying in this very bed, wide awake, stomach churning as he replayed the words Dean had shouted at him last night.

 

Dean sighs, eyes roving over Cas’s body once before returning to his face. “Gabe still hasn’t turned up. Probably figures there’ll be a shitstorm once he does, which is absolutely correct.”

 

Castiel nods, for once not jumping to defend his brother. Gabriel really fucked up this time. Getting Sam wasted is one thing, but lying to Cas about it all day, ignoring his phone calls and texts, it's not on. The guy really needs to grow up; Castiel’s starting to have had enough.

 

“I would imagine that Sam probably still has his head in a toilet.” Dean tells Cas, smirking very slightly. “If that idiot thinks I’m gonna be nice about his hangover, he’s sorely mistaken. He got himself in this mess.”

 

Cas chuckles a little, feeling slightly bad for Sam, having seen how atrocious the Kappa Sigma boys had been with him. Dean’s face brightens as he sees Cas smiling.

 

“So…” Cas asks tentatively, not wanting to rock the boat but knowing that he must. “You’re not mad at me…”

 

“Right.” Dean confirms, gulping down some coffee.

 

“And I’m not mad at you…” Castiel says carefully, and Dean narrows his eyes.

 

“Really?” Dean queries, disbelief in his eyes. “Because I would totally get it if you were, Cas. I’ve been a dick the last couple o’days.”

 

Cas is quiet for a moment, searching himself for feelings of anger or irritation. It’s true, over the last few days, Dean hasn’t exactly been himself in the way that Cas has known him.

 

He’s been stubborn and hot-headed, disrespectful of Cas’s feelings, prone to lashing out whenever he’s upset. Castiel won’t pretend these things don’t bother him, but he’s a reasonable person, he knows why Dean is like this.

 

Dean’s football training is stressful right now. As they approach the halfway point of the year, Dean’s team must undoubtedly be getting worked to the bone. Dean doesn't like talking about it much, but Cas is around Dean's teammates a lot, and overhears things. He knows that Dean is the frontrunner for getting drafted professionally at the end of the year. He can't imagine the kind of strain that must put him under, physically and mentally. And all of that is on top of Dean’s part-time job, his BioChem minor, and keeping the people close to him happy.

 

“I can see what you’re doin’ y’know.” Dean says at length, interrupting Cas’s thoughts. He’s smiling faintly, fondly, leaned back in his chair, just watching. “You’re thinkin’ – well yeah, he’s been a dick, but it can be justified with this and this and this.”

 

Cas blushes slightly, embarrassed at being read so easily. Is he that transparent? With Dean, it often seems as though he might as well be made of glass.

 

“Well, I know for a fact that you’re not a total dick, Dean.” Castiel tells him, smiling back a little. “So what if you’re stressed and stuff, it’s not like-”

 

“Cas, baby,” Dean cuts in, leaning forwards, “don’t you see that I’m givin’ you a chance here? One o’the benefits of winnin’ a fight is that you get to actually _win_ somethin’. It doesn’t matter if there are reasons why I did or said certain things – the point is, I was a dick and I owe you for it.”

 

Cas contemplates this long and hard. The words sink into his mind slowly, sparking a nervous excitement deep within him. The embers of a near-dormant, pushed aside desire crackle and burn, reminding him of their existence, begging to be coaxed into flame. 

 

He knows what it is that he wants from Dean. If he could have anything, it would be this. He’s thought about it before, more than a few times, and for quite some time now. But can he ask for it now that Dean is handing him this opportunity? Is it the right time? Perhaps he should wait until their relationship is less tumultuous, until they've gone more than a day without fighting to say the least. 

 

He supposes he has to stop finding excuses and actually bring it up sometime if he has any hope of achieving his desire, but… God, it’s terrifying. He has no idea how Dean will react.

 

Dean is watching the flickering expressions on his face with narrowed eyes.

 

“You totally have somethin’ you wanna ask for, don’t you?” Dean guesses in a split second. Castiel attempts to close his apparently spread-eagled, wide open pages, but to no avail.  Dean is grinning now, delighted as Castiel squirms, still deciding whether or not this is a sensible idea. “Go on sugar, I dare ya.”

 

Castiel takes a deep breath. “Alright, say I _did_ hypothetically have something in mind.”

 

Dean raises an eyebrow, still grinning. He sips his coffee. “Uh huh.”

 

“What if you… said no?”

 

“You think I’ll say no? To that face?”

 

Castiel blushes, and gulps coffee down like it were tequila. Man, he wishes he had some of that right now. That would help things along, easy.  

 

“But if you _did._ ” He insists, and Dean shrugs.

 

“Then we’ll work it out. Negotiate.” Dean narrows his eyes a little, smirking. “How kinky is this request anyway?”

 

Castiel blushes deeper, and splutters a little. “Who says it’s sexual?”

 

“Your tomato-red cheeks.” Dean answers, grinning. “Come on, I’m excited now. What is it?”

 

“Okay,” Cas relents, unable to believe that he’s about to say this aloud. He takes a deep breath, arranging the appropriate way to request this in his mind before speaking. “Um, how would you feel about letting me…” Cas struggles for the wording, pursing his lips a little before he continues. “…um, _take the reins,_ so to speak?”

 

Dean’s brow furrows, and to Cas's shock he looks mildly fearful. “Literally? Like that freaky horse, saddle, leather dress-up stuff?” Castiel has to pause for a moment, a smile creeping onto his face at Dean’s horrified expression. “I mean, not that it’s freaky really, like- uh, if you’re into it then…”

 

“Not literally.” Castiel tells him, and Dean lets out a sigh of relief.

 

“Thank God.”

 

“I mean,” Castiel continues, “like switching roles, if you understand my meaning.”

 

“Like we did in the Science lab that time?” Dean asks, catching on at last.

 

Castiel nods slowly, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He feels the blush making itself known again. God, this is difficult. He has no idea how Dean talks about this stuff so easily. Sure, it’s different when you’re in the moment, but to be so blazé at eleven o’clock in the morning on a Thursday…

 

“Except,” Cas says, “I’d kind of like to try… being the one doing the… the, um…”

 

Castiel can’t think of a way to phrase it. He lets his sentence hang there, Dean’s face utterly bewildered. Castiel sighs, closing his eyes.

 

“I wanna fuck you.”

 

Cas forces himself to open his eyes, to see how his statement landed, the impact it made. Dean’s eyebrows have shot up his forehead, and he stares at Cas, mouth slightly open.

 

“Oh.” He says after a minute, and Cas just waits, chewing his lip. “Uh, right.” Dean’s face is a mixture of several different emotions all tangled up together. Cas can’t hope to decipher what he’s feeling. Damn it, why doesn’t this open book thing go both ways? All of a sudden, Dean chuckles, the sound forced and awkward as he rubs his palm against his thigh. “Um, I dunno, Cas. That’s uh… honestly I didn’t think that’s what you’d ask for.”

 

Castiel jumps in before Dean can overthink this. “It’s not that I don’t like it the way things are, honestly,” he chuckles slightly, “ _trust_ me, things are _great,_ it’s just that um, I guess I’m… curious?”

 

Dean nods, biting his own lip now, still looking tense.

 

“Yeah, uh… I- I really don’t know if I can um…” Dean starts to say, and then apparently thinks of something better. “It’s just, it’s not who I am, y’know? I’ve never done it before, and… well, my personality just suits things the way they are, y’know? Not that there’s anything wrong with…”

 

“Dean,” Cas says softly, half-wishing he’d never brought this up, but feeling like he has to at least try and persuade Dean now, or else this could be written off forever. He places a hand on Dean’s knee. “Think about it like this. Sometimes when you’re…" Cas closes his eyes, unable to believe he's about to say this. He can't think of another option though. How else is he supposed to make Dean understand? "...inside me, it’s unimaginable.”

 

Castiel can’t meet Dean’s eyes as he speaks; it’s too embarrassing to just say this aloud when they haven’t even kissed this morning. “It’s good, Dean. I mean like, _so good,_ and I’m sure you can see that from my reaction because I just... fall apart.” Cas risks a glance up at Dean’s eyes, finding hesitance there, but lust too, blossoming behind emerald irises at the sound of Cas’s words, and that’s a good thing. “I just want the chance to take you apart the same way, to make you feel as good as I do… because there's truly nothing like it.”

 

There’s a silence draping over them for a few moments after Cas stops talking, and then Dean blows a puff of air out of his cheeks. “You are one persuasive guy, Cas.”

 

Castiel meets his eyes with a smile. “Is that a yes?”

 

Dean presses his lips together. “Honestly? I’m still not sure.”

 

Castiel nods, disappointed, but having known fully well that this could have been the outcome, he tries not to let it affect him. At least it’s not a Hell no.

 

“Can we negotiate?” Cas asks after a moment, remembering what Dean said earlier. Dean’s eyes narrow suspiciously.

 

“How?”

 

Castiel tries to look as innocent as possible. He’s had this idea for a while too, more as a fun activity to do when they’re bored, but this works even better.

 

“I have a game.”

 

“How does that help?” Dean asks sceptically.

 

“The game is called Too Hot.” Castiel continues, ignoring Dean’s statement. He sincerely hopes that Dean has never watched The L Word*. The only reason Cas ever did was because Gabriel told him to once, assuring him it was ‘right up his street’. It took Castiel an embarrassingly long time (3 seasons) to work out that the 'L' word did not actually stand for 'Love' as Gabriel had told him, and that the series actually probably did not have him in mind as a target audience. “The rules are pretty simple.” Cas continues. “We kiss, no hands, and the first person to put their hands on the other one loses the game.”

 

Dean’s eyebrows rise in sudden interest. “That sounds awesome. Still not gettin’ how it’s relevant though.”

 

“Well, how about whoever loses the game gets whatever they want from the other one?” Castiel says innocently, averting his eyes as he drains the last of his coffee and places it on the side.

 

Dean smirks. “Uh huh. So if I lose, you get to ‘take the reins’?”

 

Castiel shrugs, as if the thought had barely occurred to him. “I guess.”

 

“Well,” Dean says dramatically, drinking the last of his coffee too and putting it on the windowsill, “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not gonna lose.”

 

He winks at Cas, and Cas’s stomach flips. Oh my God, Cas thinks dumbly, he agreed. If Cas wins this, he gets everything. He tries to calm himself.

 

“What if I lose?” Castiel forces himself to ask before he climbs straight into Dean’s lap.

 

Dean grins. “Hmm, what about… sex on Gabriel’s bed, door unlocked,” Castiel’s mouth falls open – surely Dean can’t be serious, “ _and_ a full striptease, to music, at a time of my choosing.”

 

Castiel shakes his head in disbelief. “Why do you get _two_ things? Also, Gabe’s bed?! Ew! Do you know what he does in there?”

 

Dean grins at him. “I get two because your one is a big fuckin’ deal for me. Now are we doin’ this or not?”

 

Castiel dithers uncertainly. Right now, sat away from Dean, he thinks he can win. But he knows fully well how easy it is for Dean to manipulate him, and what’s more, so does Dean.

 

Then again, this might be his only chance. He tries to picture Dean underneath him for motivational purposes, tries hard to imagine the flutter of Dean's lashes as Cas does certain things to him for the first time. Will he be loud? Cas wonders, tongue tracing the contours of his lower lip. Will Dean's breaths come in stuttered gasps? Will he call Cas's name?

 

"Cas, you in?" Dean prompts, staring at him confusedly.

 

Okay, Cas thinks, blushing furiously, he may have gotten a little side tracked there. At least he's about fifty times more determined to win now. Sometimes he thanks the Heavens for giving him such a vivid imagination.  

 

“Yes.” Cas agrees, nodding. Dean nods too, giving his consent, and Cas pats the space beside him on the bed, biting his lip.

 

Dean sits there on the edge of the bed, legs out in front of him, feet touching the floor. Castiel doesn't waste time climbing into his lap, half hoping to catch him off guard, get him riled up before they even begin. Cas straddles him, bringing their faces teasingly close, parting his mouth just a little. Dean just smiles up at him, apparently very confident in his ability to win.

 

“So no touching from now, right?” Dean asks, cool as a cucumber; Cas nods, scowling a little at the idea Dean is so unaffected, and trying hard to make his own breaths come steady and even.

 

Cas holds his arms behind his back, clasping his hands together, fingers interlocking for security. Dean opts for sticking his out to the sides; Cas likens him to a toddler pretending to be an aeroplane – a strange image, for sure.

 

“Ready, baby?” Dean asks, his voice sliding so easily into that rough, smoky tone that drives Cas wild. All ridiculous thoughts of toddlers fly out of Cas’s brain, landing in a, far dusty corner. Fuck, how is he ever going to last?

 

“Ready.” Cas practically squeaks, sounding anything but. Dean doesn’t move.

 

Instead he waits, green eyes sparkling gold in the milky sunlight streaming through Cas’s window. He waits patiently, tongue darting out just once to wet his full, rose petal lips, for Cas to come to him, to lean forwards and press his lips against Dean’s, instantly melting into the soft, warm abyss of Dean’s kisses.

 

Cas kind of knew Dean wouldn’t play fair. It only makes sense. The guy really doesn’t want to lose, so he’s going to do everything he can to win. Cas just didn't realise Dean would be so  _good_ at it. 

 

He nips at Cas’s lower lip, softly at first, then with insistence, teeth pulling at the thin, rapidly reddening skin until it’s raw and sensitive, close to bleeding; Cas holds back a moan, choosing instead to push harder against Dean’s mouth, licking the seam of his lips until he can taste the bitter remnants of the coffee Dean was drinking.

 

Dean’s arms barely move from their positions, though Cas catches a glimpse of his fingers clawing at the air when Dean moves his mouth to bite at his jawline.

 

“No fair.” Cas whispers, meaning Dean moving his attention to areas other than Cas’s mouth.

 

His own hands are starting to wind into themselves, fingernails digging crescent shaped indents into his palms. As Dean’s teeth scrape against his skin, he yearns to grab at Dean’s hair, to push Dean’s head down a little, so that Dean will bite at his neck like he _knows_  Cas wants him to, the fucker. He knows exactly how Cas loves it, how much he begs for it when he's allowed. 

 

He doesn’t give in though. He can’t, he won’t. He tries to focus, clearing his mind of everything except the sharp, sweet, electric buzz that creeps under his skin as Dean continues, and the one, singular thought that if he succeeds at this game, he could have Dean at his mercy, have him writhing, panting, splitting the silence of the night with his cries of ecstasy, just as Castiel has done under Dean's hands so many times. 

Cas lets out a shaky moan at the very thought of this opportunity, so close and yet so far. His hands tighten around each other, determined.

 

“I don’t remember there bein’ any rules about where we could kiss…” Dean murmurs in reply to Cas’s earlier protest, sliding his tongue over the shell of Cas’s ear, making him shudder.

 

Eventually Cas manages to get ahold of Dean’s mouth again, and this time Dean pushes his tongue inside, fierce and probing, tasting him totally, the clear dominant party of the kiss.

 

It’s a struggle, it truly is, to keep focused. But Cas can see Dean slipping too, every so often, hands having to steady themselves, Dean sending them back to base camp if they try to stray towards Cas’s face, or hips, or chest, or anywhere.

 

And let’s face it, Cas thinks to himself, trying to stay positive. Out of the two of them, Castiel is definitely the more experienced in obeying Dean’s instructions and keeping his limbs under control. The amount of times Dean has commanded him to keep his hands pinned in a certain place ‘or else’ is practically infinite.

 

Yeah, Cas has got this, for sure.

 

“Mmm, baby,” Dean mumbles into Cas’s mouth, his voice a deep growl, and Castiel's head swims from how fast all of the blood in his body rushes south, hardening his dick until he's throbbing with want. Okay, Cas thinks, kissing back with all he has, desperate to bring that noise out of Dean again. Maybe he hasn’t got this…

 

And then, mid-kiss, Castiel has a sort of revelation.

 

If he wants to try and play the dominant role in their sex life, and for Dean to happily go along with it, he should damn well show Dean how good it could be. He needs to take control - of the situation, of the kiss, everything. If he can get Dean so wrapped up in this that he breaks, Cas has won not only the game, but might also win Dean’s internal battle about whether he wants to let Cas take control.

 

Cas pushes back insistently, filled with a new sense of determination, twining his tongue with Dean’s. His heart skips when he feels Dean faltering in his movements, not sure what’s going on. Success!

 

Cas pulls back a little, meeting Dean’s eyes, their lips inches apart. Elevated as he is from being piled onto Dean's lap, he actually has to look down into Dean's face. He dares not falter, unblinking and sure, practically shaking with nerves nonetheless. Dean gazes back, eyes wide, awestruck, staring at Cas as though he has seen him for the first time.

 

Dean moves forwards, aiming for Cas's mouth again, trying to bring their lips back together, but Cas pulls back, just enough. He has to demonstrate who is in control here. Dean tries it again, darting forwards for another kiss, more insistent this time, but Castiel is fast to react, moving backwards just a centimetre or so, enough to draw Dean's breaths a little faster, their lips barely brushing. At the last second, as Dean hovers uncertainly, gaze flicking between Cas's eyes and his lips, Cas kisses Dean again, harder, more forcefully, wanting so badly to grip the sides of Dean’s head and hold him in place.

 

Dean moans, high and wanton; Castiel feels the sound reverberating in the core of his being. He feels a sweep of air past his waist, and notes with mild surprise that it must have been Dean’s hand, almost touching him, pulled away at the last moment.

 

Dean makes a litany of desperate sounding noises as Cas continues his kissing, biting at Dean’s lips and tongue, then moving his attention to other regions of Dean’s face, because apparently they’re allowed to do that – right? .

 

He presses firm kisses over Dean’s cheekbones, listening in rapture to the slightly ragged breaths the older boy is drawing. He moves down to Dean’s neck then, kissing the skin, tracing his tongue over the tensing muscles, feeling Dean’s erratically beating pulse as he goes.

 

“Cas…” Dean breathes, and Cas smiles to himself.

 

Time for the big finish, thinks Cas, hoping to Hell this will work. He bites down against the slightly stubbled skin of Dean's neck, then sucks, not gentle, right underneath Dean’s jawbone, a particularly sensitive area, Cas knows firsthand.

 

Dean cries out at the shock, Cas keeps going, sucking what will, if the fates are on his side, be a deep, crimson mark into Dean’t throat. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he feels warmth against the base of his skull, something tracing over the nerves there, threading into his hair-

 

At length, Cas realises it's Dean’s hand, winding Cas's hair around itself, tugging at it as he moans deliciously, his other hand sliding up Cas’s shirt.

 

Struck almost dumb with his own victory, Cas pulls off, eyes glinting in triumph, ready to gloat and clap his hands in glee. Instead, after meeting Dean's eyes again, seeing Dean’s lustblown pupils, his puffy, spit-slicked mouth, he finds himself, above everything, inconsolably turned on. Without a word, he reattaches himself to Dean’s lips, muttering a vague ‘I win’ as he rolls his hips down, hardly caring anymore about anything except this, now. He supposes it's quite nice to hear Dean’s responding groan.

 

At length, Castiel manages to pull himself away, to stare Dean in the face, because he must - to check this is all still okay.

 

Dean nods slowly, assessing Cas as they both catch their breath. “Okay, Cas. You win.”

 

“Really?” Cas asks, his stomach suddenly alive with butterflies; he feels their wings flap in his throat.

 

“Yeah, I’m not gonna go back on my word now, am I?” Dean says, smirking at Cas a little, the hand he still has up Cas’s shirt smoothing over his back. “Plus… you’re not bad at it. The takin’ control stuff, I mean. That was… that was pretty hot.”

 

Cas just smirks at him, unable to stop himself winking exaggeratedly. Dean rolls his eyes.

 

“Alright, alright don’t get cocky.” He pauses, seeming to dither a little.

 

Cas wishes he couldn’t see how awkward Dean was about this whole thing. He’s so sure Dean will like it, which is basically the only reason Cas is so eager to try this out. Otherwise he wouldn't bother, he'd tell Dean it's fine, he can live without it and things are great the way they are. But he doesn't want to deprive Dean of feeling... well, infinite. That's what it feels like, thinks Cas, like becoming infinite. Seeing sprawling galaxies, orbiting an imploding star. Okay, Castiel accepts, so he might be being a little dramatic. But when Dean moves within him, sliding over every nerve, every muscle, pushes into him so deeply Cas swears he'll break apart... the sensation doesn't belong on this earth.

 

“So, uh, how bout tomorrow night? You got plans?" Dean asks, and yet again Cas feels caught out, thinking of something he shouldn't. He flushes for the thousandth time this morning. "You could come watch a movie with me and Sam, and then…”

 

Cas can’t stop himself pouting just a little. “Not… tonight?”

 

Dean laughs, and Cas doesn't miss the slightly hysterical nature of it. “Easy tiger. As much as I’m sure Bobby would understand that I need the night off to go lie down and think of England, I should probably go to work.”

 

Cas supposes this is fair. He shouldn't be so demanding. It’s not his fault though, he’s just all riled up from the steamy makeout session.

 

“Okay then. Tomorrow it is.” Cas pauses, playing with Dean’s hand, removing it from his hair to stare at it.

 

Dean’s hands, much like the rest of him, are incomprehensibly beautiful. Large and strong, roughened from work and sport, but clean too, well-kept. Cas is so lucky, he thinks. He’s never introducing a rule that Dean can’t touch him ever again.

 

“So, um, what are you doing now?” Cas can’t help but ask, mind and body still thrumming as he looks from Dean’s hand to his face, noting the desire still lingering in those wide, dilated pupils. 

 

Dean grins at him. “I’m free till our tutorin’ lesson at one, as you well know, stalker.” Cas glares at him, but there’s nothing behind it. He was basically a stalker after all. “Why, you wanna do somethin’?”

 

“Maybe.” Castiel says enigmatically, a little embarrassed about asking now that Dean has addressed it so openly.

 

But, Cas tells himself, he needs to be more assertive in this area. Otherwise tomorrow night will be a disaster. So, ignoring Dean’s cocky grin, Cas forces himself to get it together, and pushes Dean backwards, luckily catching him off guard, sending him sprawling against the pillows.

 

“Woah,” Dean says, chuckling as Cas crawls over him, making short work of Dean’s belt and fly. “That game o’yours get you all flustered, baby?”

 

Castiel doesn’t bother replying, his heart is pounding too hard to hear the words properly anyway, and besides, he’s too focused on his task, mouth filling with saliva as he pulls on the waistband of Dean’s jeans.

 

“Hey, hey now,” Dean coos, sounding far less flustered than Cas thinks he should be, but before he can do anything about it, Dean has ahold of his wrists, stopping him, “easy. No need to rush, right? Plus, til’ tomorrow I believe I’m still in charge here.”

 

Castiel suppresses a growl, clamping his teeth together in frustration. Damn it. He guesses he’ll just have to practise being assertive on his own until tomorrow evening. Dean just grins at him, loving how eager Cas is, and before Cas knows it, Dean has pulled them face to face, Cas’s chest pressed against Dean’s.

 

“Gimme a li’l kiss first.” Dean says, still smiling, and Castiel closes his eyes against the painful ache of his erection, but does as asked. The kiss is a brief, no frills affair, Cas makes sure of it, because he wants to move things along as quickly as possible. “Mmm.” Dean says throatily, eyes fluttering open when Cas draws away. “Those lips, Cas.”

 

Cas has given up trying to work out how Dean can affect him with a statement as simple as the one he just uttered. All the guy did was mention his lips, but Cas can feel his cheeks heating, his body temperature rising as he revels in the very notion that Dean likes this specific part of him.

 

What’s so great about his lips anyway? He’s seen them before, in the mirror, multiple times. He’s never thought they were particularly special. To him, they’ve always been a nuisance – perpetually dry and chapped, a pastel pink colour unlike anyone else’s, revving up his insecurities.

 

Dean presses the pad of his thumb against Cas’s lower lip, as he does sometimes, pushing it downwards so Cas can feel the cool air rushing against his teeth and gums. Dean pushes his thumb inside Cas’s mouth then, watching intently as Cas draws it in obediently, flicking his tongue against it, closing his eyes and sucking hard, knowing it gives Dean ideas.

 

Sure enough, Dean hisses at the sight, and Cas feels Dean’s hips twitching as the older boy bites his own lip. “You gonna let me fuck this sweet little mouth o’yours, baby?”

 

Castiel moans around Dean’s thumb, nodding enthusiastically, his hand already reaching for Dean’s crotch again. Dean doesn’t stop him this time, just watches, breathing heavier than normal, so Cas slides his mouth off Dean’s thumb, and moves downwards.

 

It’s mildly ridiculous, all this, he thinks to himself, because he was about to do this a minute ago, except he didn’t have Dean’s ‘permission’ then. Still, he’s not complaining. All this domination stuff is too hot for him to complain, and anyway – tomorrow he’ll get his turn at ordering Dean around.

 

A nervous tingle of excitement cascades down his spine just thinking about it. He lifts the hem of Dean’s t-shirt, pressing his lips to the skin just below the navel, smiling to himself when Dean gasps and twitches beneath him. It’s like the barest taste of what he’ll get to experience tomorrow.

 

Dean helps Cas to slide his jeans over his hips and down his legs, then his underwear too, so that Dean is naked from the waist down – a sight Castiel will never get tired of, he’s sure.

 

Dean is already hard, his cock engorged, pointed sharply upwards, flushed and practically begging for Cas’s touch. As Cas stares, awestruck as always, Dean takes hold of it with one loose fist, stroking slowly up and down the length.

 

Fuck, Cas thinks, his mind stuttering to a halt as he watches the slow, slick movement, feeling as though he can already taste the bittersweet, pearling beads of precome that are rapidly forming on the head.

 

“Open up for me, sweetheart.” Dean commands, taking his hand away, and Cas doesn’t hesitate, licking his lips once before sliding is mouth over the head of Dean’s cock.

 

Dean groans as he does it, fingers sliding into Cas’s hair as he sinks deeper, taking as much as he can, tasting the salty, sharp tang belonging only to Dean. There’s a certain scent too, inimitable and totally _Dean –_ a heavy, fragrant musk, lingering and damp, like rainwater, or the aroma of a thick forest, bustling with towering pines. He lets it fill his sinuses, overwhelm him as his eyelids flutter, sucking hard so that the flavour bursts on his tongue, and Dean groans louder, clenching Cas’s hair in his fist.

 

“Christ, Cas,” Dean is saying, a croak in his voice, “you feel so fuckin’ good.” Cas’s stomach flips at Dean’s words, soaking up the praise, and he starts to flick his tongue gently against Dean’s frenulum in appreciation, knowing it drives Dean mad. “Unnngh,” Dean groans out, hips lifting into Cas’s touch. “Cas, relax your throat baby, stay still, okay?”

 

Cas forces himself to obey, closing his eyes and relaxing. When he's ready, he taps two fingers against Dean’s hip, an affirmation that he’s understood, that he knows what Dean wants to do, and he’s on board. He’s always on board with this.

 

He’s heard before– okay, he’s _read_ before on online forums and such that there are people who hate having their sexual partners fuck into their mouths like Dean does to him sometimes. But Cas is the polar opposite. To have Dean taking him so completely, with such force yet such care all at once, it’s insanely hot.

 

Sure, Cas wants to try out being more dominant in the bedroom, but he can’t deny how much he adores Dean taking control. It’s what hooked him in the first place with Dean, has had him coming back for more all this time. Dean has a permanent hold over him, a power that brings Cas to his knees (often quite literally) with no more than a flirty smile or a throaty command. Cas wouldn’t change a thing about it, either.

 

Dean holds Cas by his hair as he pushes his hips upwards into the warm, soft cavern of Cas’s loose, pliant mouth. He starts off slowly, he always does, careful to ease Cas into it, despite the fact they’ve done this thousands of times.

 

Castiel makes sounds of encouragement, concentrating hard on not gagging as Dean continues, going so deep that he hits the back of Cas’s throat.

 

“Ughhh, Cas,” Dean moans, his thrusts increasing in momentum, “you’re so hot, baby.” Cas makes another humming noise of approval, making Dean gasp. “Can you take me deeper, huh?”

 

He can damn well try, Cas decides, up for the challenge, and he pulls off a short way, changing his position to try and get the angle just right. His pants are starting to chafe - very uncomfortable. He wishes he could just take them off, but Dean hasn’t told him to, and besides – he’s a little busy. Once relatively satisfied with his position, he taps Dean’s hip again, a silent assent, and Dean pushes forwards in one long thrust.

 

It’s a peculiar sensation, deepthroating someone, Cas thinks as he feels Dean slip into him, all his effort focused on suppressing his gag reflex and just enjoying the litany of swears pouring from Dean’s lips.

 

He can feel Dean deeply inside of him, pushing into his throat, claiming him totally. He understands why people might not like it – it’s not dissimilar to choking in many ways – but then, has anyone else experienced it with Dean Winchester? Is there anything Dean Winchester could try with Castiel that he wouldn’t find indescribably arousing? He doubts it.

 

All Castiel can think about as Dean fucks into him, his erratic moans informing Cas he’s close to the edge, is that this is _Dean_ , claiming him, attempting to intertwine them as closely as possible, sliding in so far it should be impossible.

 

Cas can feel his cock straining, twitching against every thrust Dean makes into him, and Cas can’t help moaning. Spit coats Dean’s cock as he pulls out over and over; Cas is practically drooling, he can barely breathe, barely think, but to have Dean do this, it’s fascinating, it’s wrong, and so, so incredibly hot.

 

“Oh, fuck, I’m so close, baby,” Dean moans, hips beginning to stutter, and Cas just groans again, engrossed in the thought that Dean will come straight down his throat.

 

Dean thrusts in twice more, Cas’s fingers digging into his hips, urging him forwards- and right then, with the abruptness of a freight train ploughing into him, Cas comes, caught totally off-guard, feeling the dampness spreading in his pants as he rides the wave of his orgasm. He moans, his fingers gripping Dean’s hips so hard that it’ll leave two bruises for sure.

 

In the background, Cas hears Dean’s voice as he continues pushing forwards into Cas’s mouth. “Oh, fuck, Cas, you make me come so hard-”

 

Due to the shock mostly, along with his own orgasm knocking him off his feet, Castiel chokes when Dean comes into his mouth, spluttering around it, eyes watering, ending up with most of it smeared across his chin.

 

After a minute or so, when he’s stopped coughing and his breathing returns to normal, Dean’s arm is around him, a look of mild concern on his face.

 

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, trying to hold Cas’s gaze and failing, so he places a finger under Cas’s chin, tilting Cas’s face towards his. “Sorry, angel.”

 

“No, it’s-” Cas pauses, coughing once more, his eyes burning with tears, “not your fault. It’s just… yeah, embarrassing.”

 

Dean creases his brow. “Embarrassing? What’re you talkin’ about, that was freakin’ hot.”

 

Dean grins at him, cockily some might say, and then – as casual as anything – swipes his thumb through the mess of come still pooled on Cas’s chin, brings it to his lips, and sucks it off. Castiel nearly comes in his pants again right there. Man, he thinks, he really needs to get ahold of himself.

 

It takes Cas a few moments, understandably, to recover from seeing that happen right in front of him.

 

“Um,” he manages to say at length, “n-no, I meant… embarrassing because I, um…”

 

Dean raises his eyebrows, clearly not understanding, and Cas sighs, aiming a pointed look at his own pants-covered crotch. A look of shocked realisation dawns on Dean’s face.

 

“What– really?” Dean exclaims, arms reaching for Cas’s waist, pulling him in. “You came untouched?”

 

Cas wrinkles his nose, feeling the blush creep onto his cheeks. He really is just so embarrassing sometimes. Why is Dean even with him?

 

“Yeah…” He confesses eventually, and then all thoughts are pushed from his mind as Dean kisses him, rough and slow, tongue insistent and probing until Cas allows it in. 

 

His mouth is still on fire from before, his throat a little raw, but he’s never going to say no to kissing Dean, so he just goes with it, letting himself fall into the familiar high. The kiss is wet and messy, the taste of Dean's spendings slipping between their frantic mouths, until it's practically wiped away. 

 

“That is so friggin’ hot, angel.” Dean practically growls against his lips, and Cas shivers helplessly. “How’d I get you, huh? How’d I ever get so lucky?”

 

Castiel chuckles at the irony of it all, but doesn’t stop the kiss. Dean thinks he lucked out with Castiel for Christ’s sake, and Cas thinks he lucked out with Dean. He guesses that pretty much means that they're perfect for each other, though he may need to talk to Dean about helping him down off this pedestal.

 

Dean can stay up on his. He looks damn good up there after all, thinks Cas with a sigh.

 

* * *

 

 

As he tightens the nuts on the wheel of the car he’s been working on for the past half hour – a 2015 Chevy Impala; he’s trying hard not to spew chunks over it’s glossy, curved and ‘jungle green’ finish – Dean tries to tell himself there’s no reason to freak out.

 

His heart has been pounding mercilessly, almost painfully against his ribcage ever since he left Cas after tutoring earlier, and he knows the cold sweat trickling down his neck is not from the exertion of his current task.

 

“When you finish up with that tyre, I got a job over here with your name on it, boy.” Bobby calls from across the garage, making Dean roll his eyes. He wishes he could be at home right now, chilling with Sammy, just having a night off from all the stress lately. But he needs money - Sam needs money, so he has to work. “Did’ja hear me, Dean?”

 

“Yes!” Dean calls back tiredly, arms starting to ache from all the screwing. And then, under his breath: “Who didn’t?”

 

“You better not be givin’ me any sass, boy.”

 

Dean smirks to himself, not bothering to respond. Bobby might act tough, like he won’t take any of Dean’s shit, but Dean knows they guy’s a big old softie on wheels. After all, he took pity on Dean enough to give him this job, and he wouldn’t have done the same for anyone else on the football team that’s for damn sure.

 

The guy acts like he couldn’t care less, but Dean catches him watching sometimes, concern in his crinkled eyes as Dean hangs up the phone to a drunken John, or dashes off after practice towards the parking lot, ready to drive back to Kansas and try to keep things under control back home.

 

Yeah, Bobby’s been real good to him, Dean thinks, still smiling a little, catching sight of the dude’s trucker cap gliding past, the rest of him obscured by a hoisted up Toyota that Dean’s been meaning to take a look at.

 

He’s offered Dean work, advice, heck, even a place to stay if he ever needs it. All offhandedly of course, said nonchalantly over an after-game beer or on a break at the garage.

 

Yeah, Bobby’s a great guy. Dean owes him a lot. He starts screwing faster as he thinks this, wanting to get onto this next task Bobby’s got in store for him.

 

Unfortunately, his mind slips back to the gnawing anxiety of what happened earlier with Cas. It’s stupid, he knows, to be so afraid of Cas’s request. He should probably have seen it coming, really. It’s not like Cas is asking for something entirely unreasonable.

 

It’s just that Dean can’t think about himself in that position – no pun intended. In his mind, he has to play a certain role, live up to an expectation that stems from… well, Dean thinks, it probably stems from his father.

 

John was big on the masculinity trait for his sons. When conscious and coherent, he would often tell Sam and Dean to deal with things through violence and aggression. He’d preach that maintaining a cocky attitude would get the boys farther in life – equally if they flirted with everything in a skirt so nobody got ‘the wrong idea’ and, most importantly, never let the façade drop.

 

It’s been drilled into Dean for so long, and he knows it’s a stupid, ignorant and misogynistic – not to mention _homophobic -_ way to live, but it’s hard to just… shut that part of him down. After all, Dean’s masculine persona has helped to get him to where he is today – Alpha of a Fraternity, lead quarterback of the college football team, a campus legend.

 

To turn all that on its head with so little warning, surrender himself totally to someone else, to be so _vulnerable_ is almost unthinkable-

 

But it’s _Cas,_ a small voice argues from the recesses of his mind. It’s not just ‘someone’. It’s a person he trusts, a person he loves.

 

Dean sighs, staring down at the wheel he’s successfully fitted and feeling no sense of triumph. He places the spanner down beside him and grabs the oily rag from his back pocket, trying to clean his hands a little.

 

It should make a difference that it’s Cas, shouldn’t it? Dean thinks to himself miserably. After all, Cas gave himself to Dean and he was a clueless virgin. What right does Dean have to say no to this? Cas just wants to try it anyway.

 

 _But_.

 

Dean can’t stop his mind saying the word, and he groans, looking skyward. He’s so tired of the argument swimming round and round in his mind. He grits his teeth, standing up and making his way over to where Bobby sits, ordering around some of the other guys, their heads all bent forwards into the hood of a filthy Honda Accord that’s definitely seen better days.

 

Okay enough, Dean thinks firmly, telling himself to stop being such a pussy, and if the words ring in his ears in John Winchester’s voice, well that’s just coincidence. Look, Dean just isn’t a ‘bottom’, no matter what his drunken porn habits might tell you, he says to himself firmly. He’s not gonna wuss out, not now that he’s given Cas his word, because Dean isn’t that kind of guy and hey, he’ll try anything once.

 

And that’s all it’ll be. Once. Cas just wants to try it out, right? It doesn’t mean Dean has to like it. When the ordeal is over, Dean can just say he hated it, never wants a repeat, and everything will go back to normal. No one ever has to hear about it, and Dean never has to think about it ever again.

 

Dean’s shoulders relax as the plan forms in his mind. He stops beside Bobby, looking down. The relief of not worrying anymore floods out of Dean in waves, and Dean wonders if the way Bobby is staring at him means he can feel it pouring over him.

 

“Wipe that dopey smile off your face, y’idgit.” Bobby says gruffly, and all at once, Dean is back in the room, remembering that now is not the time for revelations about his sex life. “We got a busted camshaft deep in the bowels o’this piece o’crap. I’m recruitin’ you to reach in and fish out what’s left of it.”

 

Dean sighs, rolling up his sleeves. As a brief afterthought, he wonders if Sam is managing to have a good time at the Frat without him.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Castiel Novak**  
I know you’re working,  
so you won’t get this till  
later, but I wanted to   
tell you. I got some…  
special supplies for   
tomorrow ;)   
so excited, thank you for  
doing this with me.  
I love you xxx

 

 **Castiel Novak**  
Just thought about it  
and hope I didn’t freak  
you out with my last  
text. I know you’re   
nervous. The supplies  
aren’t anything crazy.  
Just… some treats ;)  
I think you’ll enjoy them.  
Im excited.  
Did I say I love you  
in my last text?   
Because I do. A lot.  
xxx

 

 **Dean Winchester (!)**  
Just saw these. Im on   
my break. You’re sexy   
when you’re excited.  
;) love you too, baby  
xxx

 

* * *

 

 

Cas is on his way to the Frat house. Dean is closing up shop tonight, so he won’t be back till late. But he decides to go anyway, partly because he’s got nothing else to do, and also to check up on Sam, see how he’s coping. Maybe he and Sam can hang out, mend their frayed relationship a bit. It’s fragile at the moment to say the least, though Cas is hopeful for the future, particularly since Sam apparently confessed everything and put Cas in the clear with Dean.

 

When he arrives at the Frat however, Sam is nowhere to be seen. Cas searches the living areas, the bathrooms, the Pledge’s dorm room where Sam is staying, everywhere he can think of. As an afterthought, he heads to Gabriel’s room, finding the door open and ajar for the first time since he’s started visiting the house.

 

Castiel pushes on it hesitantly, slightly terrified of what he could find. Inside, Gabriel lies sprawled on his bed, fully clothed and snoring steadily. A damp, crimson flannel rests over his eyes, evidence of his brother's hangover. Castiel rolls his eyes at the sleeping 'Trickster'. There's no Sam though, Castiel is sure of that. He's pretty sure Sam Winchester is mildly terrified of Gabriel, especially his flirtatious side, so he doubts he'd be hiding in his bedroom, but who knows? Gabriel has been known to convince stronger-willed people to do crazier things.

 

Castiel checks the wardrobe and under the bed, just to be safe. All he finds are candy wrappers and porn magazines, along with a detailed set of blueprints for the Frat house - Castiel doesn't want to know - a jar of itching powder and what looks like a box filled with copies of the entire Fraternity's permanent records.

 

Castiel has the strong urge to back away slowly, before he either finds something even more disturbing or Gabriel wakes up and catches him red-handed. Instead, however, Castiel places everything back, and lingers in the doorway, staring at his brother, eyes narrowed. His thoughts return to Sam - where could the younger Winchester be? Perhaps Sam is at the library or the coffee shop? Or getting something from the corner shop?

 

It seems off somehow, out of character for Sam to just be 'AWOL' and not tell anyone. Not that Castiel knows Sam all that well, he supposes. He shifts against the doorframe, eyes swivelling back to his brother’s unconscious form. He’s still dressed in the outfit he wore all day yesterday and to the party. Disgusting, Cas thinks, wrinkling his nose - has he even had a shower?

 

Castiel hasn't really addressed it yet, he's been too preoccupied, but he feels his emotions surfacing now, and he realises that he is so, so angry at Gabriel. This boy has put him through Hell over the past two days. In fact, Castiel thinks, scowling down at Gabe, he's been putting Cas through Hell a lot longer than that. 

 

The pranking has gone on far too long, and it's not funny anymore. It's just kind of pathetic. Was it ever funny for anyone other than Gabriel? What about when Cas was just a baby, too young to defend himself against scary, confining fingertraps and loud, frightening whoopee cushions in his crib? Was it funny then? 

 

Gabriel needs a taste of his own medicine, Cas thinks to himself absently, except nobody could ever get away with it. He even  _deserves_ it after all the shit he pulled yesterday night with Sam.  

 

An insidious, creeping idea begins to formulate in Castiel's mind as he stares down at his brother's totally unconscious form. "Oh my God..."  

 

The Heavens have opened, shining a beautiful, miraculous light down on this scene before him, and Castiel has been oblivious to it until this moment. This is an opportunity, he realises, a golden one- heck, a _platinum_ one, and he would be a fool not to take immediate advantage. Castiel smirks to himself, stepping forwards slightly to peer at Gabriel, totally oblivious to Cas's epiphany. Honestly, Castiel kind of expects a wash of guilty conscience, looking at his own flesh and blood in this vulnerable position, but none comes.

 

Castiel suspects it's because of the definite knowledge he possesses that if their positions were reversed, Gabriel would take advantage of the moment, whether Cas had done anything wrong or not.

 

The time has finally come, Castiel thinks, sighing in delight as ideas rush at him from all sides. He is finally going to get his long-awaited revenge. Cas steeples his fingers under his chin in thought, formulating a plan for the evening ahead. He's got a lot of work ahead of him, that's for sure. He just hopes, when everything is complete, and Gabriel has been knocked off his 'Trickster' throne once and for all, that it will be worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In case it isn't clear, or you haven't seen it, the game 'Too Hot' appears in Season 2 episode 3, 'Loneliest Number' of The L Word. It's a great scene if you're interested in seeing it portrayed by two wonderful women ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has no idea how Dean manages to keep such a level head. Being in control is stressful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all - I have decided to split this chapter again (I know) because it's long, and now the entirety of the next chapter will be the long-awaited and terribly exciting 'switch' sex scene. That chapter is gonna be loooong, mark my words, there is much to fit in, so it makes sense to have an entire chapter dedicated to that one scene. 
> 
> I have not finished writing it yet, so please chant your motivational thoughts at me as I go, and I shall get it posted all the quicker! In the mean time my lovelies, enjoy this chapter of revenge, brattiness, and some UST style fluff ;) 
> 
> love you all tremendously, thank you for your patience xxx

Six hours later, and Castiel wonders if he may have gone a tad overboard. He’s starting to wonder if his brother will ever actually wake up, because Castiel, along with the four Pledges he’s managed to round up to help him, have been in and out of that room like boomerangs, and the Trickster hasn’t stirred once.

 

Feeling sore, exhausted and achingly proud of himself, Cas steps back from his masterpiece, casting his gaze over Gabriel’s bedroom. To his satisfaction, the place is practically indistinguishable from how it looked before – and that, of course, is exactly how Castiel wants it.

 

This way, Gabriel will endure weeks – months, hopefully – of having everything just slightly off-kilter, and every so often stumbling upon something horrendous. It’s going to be a good rest of the year.

 

Feeling giddy and theatrical, Cas spins on his heel to face the Pledges behind him in the hallway outside Gabriel's room. He's grinning inanely, Castiel knows, too excited for the grand finale to stay calm. The others look weary, and Castiel feels a pang of guilt for having worn them out so thoroughly. They aren’t his Pledges, after all. But it will all be worth it, he decides, once Gabriel wakes up and finally, _finally_ gets a taste of his own medicine.

 

Plus, Cas is damn sure he is a far kinder leader to these kids than any of the Psi Delta Alpha brothers are, if the way they flinch when Cas so much as calls their names is anything to go by. That’s another thing – Cas has finally actually learnt their names. Adam, Kevin, Alfie and Gary. There are a few more Pledges that Cas hasn't met properly yet, but they were all in class or visiting friends when Cas went to request their help. He can’t help but wonder if Dean knows any of their names, or if in his eyes they’re just slaves.

 

Castiel’s nose wrinkles in discomfort. He doesn’t like to think about the way the Pledges are treated. He’s sure if he ever thought about it for too long he’d get angry, and he’d yell at Dean or something, but really it’s not Dean’s fault. This is just the way Fraternities are – you start at the bottom and work your way up. Presumably Dean was a Pledge once too, just like Gordon and Luke - even Gabriel. It’s not fair of Castiel to be annoyed at Dean for just continuing a tradition he already spent a year at the worst end of.

 

Anyway, thinks Cas, pushing it out of his mind as the Pledges start shifting uncomfortably, sending longing looks towards their dorm room. It doesn’t matter now. The point is that these guys are here, and they helped him, and that was awesome of them. It did take some convincing, to be fair. At first the Pledges seemed reluctant to help Cas seek revenge on one of their brothers (Castiel couldn’t help scoffing at this point – _their_ brother?!), but all it took to change their minds was a helpful reminder of all the times Gabriel has done terrible things to them in the past. Gabriel is particularly fond of volunteering for doling out ‘hazings’, apparently. The traumatized memories flickering past each of the boys’ widening eyes was enough to tell Castiel just how bad this could have been.

 

So, in the end, all five of the Freshmen – Cas included – had mountains of reason to seek revenge on the infamous Trickster, which is just as well, because Cas is pretty sure he couldn’t have done it on his own. He just wishes the Pledges would have been a bit more at ease with him during the time they spent together. They were happy to help and worked hard, but seemed scared shitless of talking to him, only answering questions monosyllabically, their eyes darting towards the door as if Dean might come storming through at any moment.

 

Well, perhaps next year, when they are no longer Pledges, Castiel can form friendships with them, he thinks. That’s a weird thought though. Next year. Dean will have graduated, so will Gabriel. The Alpha of this Fraternity will be someone new.

 

Cas purposefully doesn’t think about it. He’s got too much else to deal with.

 

“Okay,” Cas whispers to the others as they creep out into the hallway; Cas pulls Gabriel’s door shut softly, one hand still on the doorknob, “ready? Alfie, is Legs in position?” Alfie nods solemnly, and Castiel grins wider. Oh, this is gonna be amazing. “I’ll count down from three, alright?”

 

The others nod, some biting their lips, still aiming glances towards their dorm room, looking for an escape. Castiel looks towards Kevin, easily the bravest of the bunch, who Cas has entrusted with the task of pressing the play button on his phone. Kevin nods firmly, jaw set and legs braced; Castiel smiles gleefully.

 

“Three,” He begins, shutting the door completely, and pulling on it with all his weight, “two, one, go!”

 

Kevin pushes a button on the phone, and immediately the sweet, wondrous, impossibly loud sound of Rick Astley’s eighties crooning blares from inside the closed room. Castiel can feel the door thrumming underneath his fingertips, vibrating with the noise. It’s filling the house, even through the closed door – Cas can hear the guys in other rooms yelling and laughing, telling him alternately to turn it up or knock it off.

 

Castiel shoots a grin at the Pledges behind him, noting with slight pride that they are fighting to keep smiles off their faces. He presses his ear against the wood of the door, listening intently for something other than the eighties pop sensation. Sure enough, though muffled and distant, there is the distinct sound of confused, high pitched yelping as Gabriel shoots awake, and then, music to Cas’s ears, the beautiful, melodious shriek as Gabe lays eyes on the special friend Alfie so graciously provided for this prank.

 

It had been sheer coincidence when Castiel had discovered that Alfie - quiet little Alfie, with his timid nature and tendency to speak to your shoes – turned out to be perhaps the most mischievous Pledge of all. Entirely by accident, as Castiel was rummaging for supplies in the Pledge’s dorm room, he happened upon Alfie’s collection, hidden away in a secret compartment in the back of his wardrobe, concealed by a removable piece of drywall.

 

Bugs.

 

Apparently - as Cas found out when he approached a beet-red, stammering Alfie, dripping with sweat - the kid’s always been into insects. Arachnids too – in fact, he told Castiel, as a slow grin started to form on Cas’s face, arachnids are his _favourite._

Now Alfie had a lot of bugs hidden away in his private little farm – beetles, stick-insects, moths, crickets, you name it, Alfie had it. But none of it interested Castiel once he laid eyes on Legs.

 

Part of the suckiness of growing up with someone, Castiel supposed as he let Legs crawl up his arm for the first time, is that you become intimately aware of everything they love, and everything they _loathe._

 

Gabriel, for example, hates spiders.

 

“Never gonna give you up! Never gonna let you down-”,

 

“ARRRRGGGHHHHHH!”

 

It really is like a symphony, Cas thinks to himself, sighing happily as his brother’s scream escapes his lungs, followed almost instantaneously by the expected, dramatic thud of Gabriel hitting the ground in his futile escape. In all the confusion, it seems Gabriel has yet to notice that his feet are bound together with twine.

 

It’s not like Castiel planned for that to happen or anything.

 

Castiel glances over his shoulder at the Pledges again, grinning at them, trying to wordlessly convey that it’s okay to laugh, that he’s not going to tattle on them. They all stand together in a line, lips pressed tightly closed with the strain of not laughing, their eyes glistening with tears.

 

Oh well, Castiel thinks, chuckling to himself and turning away, maybe if he doesn’t watch them they’ll think it’s okay.

 

Eventually, Cas feels Gabe grasping at the other side of the door handle, pulling with all his might. What follows is a hilarious minute or so of tug of war, punctuated every so often by Gabriel’s girlish screams, and the odd death threat filtering under the crack in the door. Cas just laughs uproariously, the entire mad situation still drowned out by the hardcore Rick Astley soundtrack, making everything that much more absurd. Castiel holds steady for a while, determinedly not faltering in his grip, and then, all at once, he lets go.

 

The door flings open, and Castiel grins down at Gabriel, stomach to the floor like an angry earthworm, the exquisite sharpie moustache Cas drew on him as elegant as ever.

 

“Cassy!” Gabriel yells over the song. “What have you done!”

 

Castiel sighs at his brother, motioning for Kevin to turn the music down, though not too much. It’s still hilarious after all, especially considering the fact that the Pledges hid those speakers so well over Gabriel’s room that it’ll take him weeks to find them all.

 

Cas bends down, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder as he twists and writhes, trying to push the ropes off of his ankles, escape his bonds.

 

“This is payback, brother dear.” Castiel says calmly, tilting his head as Gabriel scowls. “Not just for the party. Or for getting Dean’s little brother, who I was in charge of, blind drunk. Or ignoring my phone calls all day so I went out of my mind with worry.” He pauses, letting that part just sink in. There’s a creeping remnant of trepidation lingering in Gabriel’s expression, nearly drowned out by the anger radiating off of him. “Gabe, this is mainly for the many, many years of being a total assbutt.”

 

“You’re gonna pay for this, Cassy.” Gabriel growls; Cas just laughs, clapping Gabe on the back. It’s not that hard, but it still sends Gabriel sprawling a little.

 

“I don’t think so.” Cas says, shaking his head with a smile. “You see, this is just the beginning, Gabe. The Pledges and I have been working for hours, perfecting your punishment.” Cas turns around to include them in the conversation, thinking they might want to spit some words out too, but – surprise, surprise – they’ve scarpered. Cas sighs, turning back to Gabe. “I almost envy you, not knowing what’s in store over the next few weeks. But then again… I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of any of the surprises coming your way.” Castiel cups a hand round his own mouth, dropping his voice to a stage-whisper. “If I were you, I’d wear gloves around your room from now on.”

 

Gabriel is staring at Cas as though he’s never seen him before, mouth agape, tendrils of hair mussed around his face, his eyes saucers. Is he really so surprised that Cas got his revenge this way? They are brothers after all. Gabriel probably inadvertently taught Cas everything he knows.

 

“Hey,” Alfie suddenly cries from behind Cas, having crept up when Castiel wasn’t looking – or maybe he was there the whole time. He tends to fade into the background, that kid. He rushes forwards, towards Gabriel, arms outstretched. “Legs, you’re okay!”

 

The boy’s hand extends towards Gabriel’s shoulder, and Cas is fortunate enough to hear his brother’s shrieking for the second time that day.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s eleven thirty at night by the time the whole Gabriel debacle is over, and Cas is exhausted. Man, this pranking stuff really takes its toll, he thinks, wondering if that’s how Gabriel keeps fit.

 

Castiel had untied his brother as one final courtesy, and then left him to it. The guy’s going to need the use of all his limbs if he’s spending the night in that room alone in the dark. Cas chuckles to himself. He has no idea what’s in store.

 

As Cas retreats down the hallway towards Dean’s room, every muscle in his body screaming out for the comfort of a firm mattress and eight hours in unconsciousness, Gabriel calls after him.

 

“Aw, come on!” Gabriel whines as he goes. “Cassy, this is unfair! At least let me know if there are more spiders.”

 

“Nighty night!” Cas calls over his shoulder, grinning to himself. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

 

“Cassy, I swear, if there are more spiders, I’m climbing in with you and Dean!”

 

Castiel turns back to look at Gabe, smiling fondly at him, despite everything. At least all this hasn’t completely torn them apart. Cas still loves the guy after all, even if he is a royal dick. Hopefully now, Gabe will see Cas as more of a match, an equal, maybe even a threat, and won’t be such a horrific pain in the backside.

 

“We sleep naked.” Cas informs him, and Gabriel makes a retching sound. “See you in the morning, brother dear.”

 

Just before he turns into the inviting darkness of Dean’s room, Castiel glimpses Gabe turning to his own room, gulping as he glances fearfully inside.

 

Cas grins to himself, oddly proud of all he’s accomplished. Hey, maybe when Gabe graduates, Cas can pick up the Trickster title.

 

* * *

 

 

It dawns on Castiel as he flops down onto Dean’s bed at long last, illuminated only by the turquoise lava lamp warming up in the corner, that Sam has been gone ever since Cas arrived, possibly longer.

 

The thought has a fist clenching around his heart in sudden panic. How could he have been oblivious to this fact? He’s been so wrapped up in his silly little revenge plot against Gabriel that he’s failed to notice Sam being missing for over six hours!

 

Where the Hell could he be?! Cas sits up, frantic thoughts flitting across his brain. Is he lost somewhere on campus? Has he been abducted? Taken in by a particularly strict security guard who is at this very second finding out he’s not a student and planning to send him back to Kansas?

 

Right then, Castiel hears the front door slamming. Someone’s come home, he thinks, practically running out of Dean’s room and peering over the top of the bannister to see who it is. He prays it isn’t Dean. How can he explain himself this time? Especially after Dean has only just forgiven him for yesterday.

 

His fingers dig painfully into the wood, and he chews his lip, straining to see a face as footsteps begin to pad up the stairs.

 

Long hair, a wiry frame, and a bulky backpack drift into view, moving slowly, tiredly up the stairs. Castiel lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. It’s Sam, thank God. He starts walking along the hallway to the top of the staircase, meeting Sam there as he approaches. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say when he gets there, and from the look on Sam’s face as they make eye contact, neither does he.

 

All too soon, Castiel and Sam are both beside each other on the landing at the top of the stairs, stopped awkwardly in front of each other. They stare at each other for a second, lost for words. Sam shifts uncomfortably, avoiding Cas’s eye. Castiel realises that he and Sam haven’t spoken since last night’s… incident.

 

“Hi, Sam.” Castiel says eventually, because one of them has to say something.

 

“Hi.” Sam replies, glancing down the hall towards the Pledge’s dorm room, probably desperate to escape.

 

Castiel tries to think quickly and tactfully. He needs to get through to this kid somehow, find out where he was and get back on his good side. So, okay, what has Cas deduced about Sam so far? Well, Sam is a teenager, clearly feeling a little on the rebellious side now he’s experiencing ‘college’. Castiel can’t really relate to this feeling, though he’s read books with protagonists having similar dilemmas.

 

Basically, if Cas wants to stay in Sam’s favour, he shouldn’t annoy him by berating him for his ‘rebellious’ behaviour. Again.

 

“So,” Cas says, trying to sound nonchalant, conversational. “You’ve been gone a while. Go anywhere special- I mean, cool?”

 

Sam raises an eyebrow at Cas sceptically, studying him. He’s probably seeing right through me, Cas thinks, I can’t get away with being cool and adolescent and stuff. I’m practically a forty year old in an eighteen year old’s body.

 

And then Sam smiles, just a little. It’s like a rainfall of pure relief. “Actually yeah. I met up with some of those guys from the party.”

 

“Oh, cool.” Castiel says, nodding. Internally however, he is worrying. Guys from the party? Who does Sam mean? Castiel decides to try his luck. “Which guys are those?”

 

Sam looks a little awkward then, frowning. Again, he looks towards the Pledge’s room, clearly not wishing to be in this conversation any longer.

 

“Um, just some of the ones from…” Sam pauses, not looking Cas in the eye. “From the other Frat.”

 

Castiel’s heart stops beating; he tries his best not to let it show. Fuck. This is bad, isn’t it? This is seriously bad news. Sam must mean the boys from Kappa Sigma. The drunken assholes who not only got Sam so drunk he threw up half the night, but also treated Cas like a piece of meat right in front of everyone. How can Sam think these people are good friendship material?

 

“I know Dean really hates them,” Sam is saying, jolting Cas out of his spiral of thoughts, “but they’re cool guys. They’re nice to me. Say they’re gonna look out for me next year and stuff.” Sam winces, probably seeing something in Cas’s face that he doesn’t want to. “Plus they’re really fun! They give me beer and talk to girls for me – I even tried a cigarette tonight, Cas! It was gross, but still-”

 

Sam cuts himself off then, watching as Castiel runs a hand through his hair, wondering what the Hell he’s supposed to do about this nightmare of a situation. What is Dean going to say? Will he blame Cas again? Maybe Cas should get some of the blame – after all, he was so distracted that he forgot to go looking for Sam earlier.

 

“Cas?” Sam asks hesitantly, putting a tentative hand on his arm, meeting his eyes. “I-I’m telling you this stuff because… well, cause you seem cool and we’re almost the same age and… also I don’t think you’d judge people as quickly as Dean does.”

 

Cas sighs, wishing it were that simple. Of course, if it were a matter of giving the Kappa Sigma boys a chance to prove themselves, it’d be different. But Cas has seen the horrifying behaviour of its members up close and personal. He still gets flashbacks of wolfish grins, dark, predatory eyes and fingers pressing into his hips, holding him in place even as he struggles.

 

“Sam…” Castiel starts to say, and he helplessly watches the flicker of hope die in Sam’s eyes as the younger boy hears his apologetic tone of voice.

 

“Forget it.” Sam bites out, removing his hand as though it’s been burned, and shaking his head. “You’ll just run and tell Dean anyway. You might as well. He’ll find out soon enough.” Cas sighs, running his hand through his hair again as Sam starts to walk away. Before he enters the dorm room, the kid looks back, snarling at Cas. “Hey, don’t you ever think anything for yourself?”

 

The door slams closed, and Castiel blinks at it, waiting there, rooted to the spot for a good minute before turning and walking away.

 

* * *

 

 

The house is still and silent when Dean finally walks through the front door. The rooms are dark, faint moonlight spilling through the windows onto the wooden floors, lighting up half of Dean’s face as he walks to the staircase. He lets out a weary, silent sigh.

 

Man, he misses the days when he started college. Lectures and classes so few and far apart that things like grades and GPA’s were merely blips on his radar. On most days he could get home at around 2pm, with hours of leisure just sprawling ahead of him.

 

Freedom for the first time after years of responsibility back home. Sure, he’d dedicate an hour to checking in on Sam every day, but once he was sure the kid wasn’t gonna be beaten to a pulp by their drunken father that night, he could relax.

 

It sure is different now, Dean thinks, checking his watch. It’s just gone 1am, and he finished work half an hour ago.

 

He wonders if this will be his life now, whether his time as a foolish, party-crazy student is over.

 

He takes the stairs two at a time, muscles crying out for the sweet embrace of his mattress – lumpy and cheap as it may be. One day, when he has his own place, he’ll save up and get himself one of those memory foam thingys. That’ll be amazing.

 

He opens the door to his room, hand reaching for the light switch, when he notices his lava lamp is on. He never switches it on normally unless he wants to pre-emptively ‘set the mood’, so to speak. But now it bubbles away, glutinous and flubbery, hypnotising Dean in his tired state.

 

He stares at it, uncomprehending of why it’s illuminating his room in an aquatic glow. He definitely wasn’t the one to switch it on, after all. It’s then that Dean glances over at his bed, peering through the gloom until he makes out the distinct, hunched shape beneath his covers.

 

His hand retreats from where it hovers over his light switch, and a stupid, traitorous smile starts to creep onto his face.

 

He creeps forwards on the balls of his feet, trying to make as little sound as possible. He slips the bag off his shoulders, placing it gently on the ground, and walks over to the side of the bed, hunching over to have a better look.

 

Cas’s face is angelic as he sleeps. It’s angelic when he’s awake too, the fucker, but like this, he looks so damn cute it kind of hurts Dean to look at him. He’s on his side, curled in the foetal position, facing Dean, covers clutched in his hands. His pastel pink lips are slightly parted, though in the light of the lava lamp they’re almost violet in colour. His long black lashes spread spidery shadows over the green-blue tint of his freckled cheeks as they flutter in dream.

 

Dean can’t help leaning in, pressing a kiss to Cas’s temple. As he draws away, he catches a faint smile of contentment on Cas’s face, and Dean can’t help smiling back.

 

Man, he’s in so deep with this kid. He can feel his heart swelling with love just looking at Cas, even with the knowledge that the guy is a massive cover hog, and is taking up practically the whole of Dean’s single bed right now, uninvited.

 

But fuck, Cas is always, always invited into Dean’s bed, Dean thinks, grinning at himself for being such a loser. He strips off quickly, t-shirt first, then his torn, grease-stained jeans, until he’s in only his boxers. He’ll grab a shower before practice in the morning. Right now, he can’t bear to wait another second before wrapping himself around the gorgeous creature waiting in his bed.

 

As he carefully climbs onto the bed, trying not to jostle about too much, Dean purposefully does not think about his fears of tomorrow night, or of Sam, or the future, or anything that could bring him down.

 

Instead, he focuses only on the warmth of Cas’s skin against his, the little sighs he makes as Dean slides his arms over Cas’s waist, the soft brush of Cas’s hair against his lips.

 

“You’re my everything, Cas.”

 

* * *

 

 

Cas wakes up to the glorious, though unfortunately brief sensation of being encircled in Dean’s arms. It’s stiflingly hot, and Dean’s breaths ghost onto the back of his neck, creating a damp patch just below his hairline. Cas isn’t complaining though. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

He has about three seconds to enjoy it however, before Kansas – the band, not the state – decides to rudely interrupt. The unmistakeable soulful rock anthem splits the silent air, ironically assuring both Cas and Dean that they can ‘lay their heads to rest’.

 

As Dean starts to shuffle from behind him with a disgruntled, reluctant noise, Cas realises that this is, in fact, not the case. He tries to hold on to Dean’s arms, to keep them bound together a few moments longer, but Dean is, as ever, infuriatingly strong and determined.

 

Cas sighs, unable to help making a short noise of contentment as he feels the kiss of apology being pressed to the back of his neck.

 

“Gotta get up, angel.” Dean murmurs, unwinding himself slowly, reaching across Cas to shut the alarm off before it drives them both mad. "Practice."

 

Dean stretches, sitting up a little, and Castiel makes sure his moans of protest are loud and known.

 

Dean chuckles softly at him in response, having to roll over Castiel to get out of the bed. Castiel manages to waylay him slightly, holding them chest to chest, Dean above him, as the older boy attempts to disentangle himself.

 

“Wait,” Castiel manages to say, his voice rough with sleep, limbs heavy and difficult to control. Dean stares down at him amusedly, eyebrows raised. “Just, ten minutes.”

 

“Cas-” Dean starts to protest, but Castiel thinks fast.

 

He leans in quickly, smashing his lips against Dean, blushing as he hears Dean’s shocked little intake of breath. It’s quickly followed by an exhausted, defeated moan as Dean sinks into him, kissing back with fervour, clearly relenting.

 

“Five minutes.” Dean mumbles against Cas’s lips, and Cas smiles, triumphant. They kiss languorously, decandently, as though they have all the time in the world, which is a dangerous game, for obvious reasons, but they’re too sleepy, too warm and comfortable to do anything less.

 

“I like comin’ home to find you in my bed,” Dean murmurs after a while, his mouth hot against Cas’s throat; Cas feels his toes curling as Dean’s breath wafts over his skin. “That was nice.”

 

“I wish you’d woken me,” Cas gasps out as Dean’s teeth press into him, hard enough to leave indents, Cas is sure.

 

“Oh yeah?” Dean asks, smirking as he lifts his face to Cas’s again. “You wouldn’t’a been too tired to welcome me home?”

 

Castiel stares at Dean as though he were insane. In what world would he let himself sleep instead of having sex with this glorious creature on top of him? It’s unimaginable.

 

“No.” Is all Castiel says in response however, though he hopes the growl in his voice gets his emphasis across.

 

Dean chuckles again, kissing Cas softly, his tongue teasing and far too fleeting for Cas’s liking. Cas huffs in frustration when Dean yet again pulls away.

 

Dean looks beautiful in the mornings, Cas thinks helplessly, his dick already half swollen with just the sensation of having this Godlike boy on top of him, naked except for his boxers, smiling lazily at Cas in the soft dawn light. For Christ’s sake, Cas thinks, the way Dean looks at him. It’s as though he’s staring at a long lost Monet, his green eyes roving Cas’s face for every brushstroke, every minute detail.

 

The sun seems to choose that moment to expose itself from behind a cloud, rushing through the slit in Dean’s curtains in a magnificent golden stream. One of Dean’s eyes, illuminated by the new light, sparkles at least fifty separate shades of emerald. Cas tries not to let his hitch of breath be too audible.

 

Dean’s smile grows wider. “Y’know, you’re cute when you’re sleepin’, Cas.” Dean tells him in a soft voice, stroking the back of his knuckle over Cas’s cheek. “But you might be even cuter in the mornings.”

 

Heat swarms into Cas’s cheeks, possibly burning Dean’s finger, and Dean kisses him again, a little harder this time, evidence of arousal lingering in the traces of Dean’s tongue.

 

Even as he’s kissed, Castiel has the distinct feeling that he’s forgetting something. That there is something he needs to tell Dean, urgently, before he disappears again.

 

Dean sucks Cas’s lower lip into his mouth, and Cas moans, cursing Dean for making him so incoherent so often. He’s a smart guy, God damn it, that’s how he got into this college in the first place. He never used to have any trouble remembering things.

 

It’s something important, he knows, something that could unfortunately affect Dean’s mood, and potentially even shatter this wonderful, perfect morning-

 

And then he remembers.

 

With a defeated groan, he pushes against Dean’s beautiful, bare chest. “Dean.” He utters, making sure to look Dean in the eyes, to convey the seriousness of the matter. “I have to tell you something.”

 

Dean sighs, something slipping out of his expression. His shoulders tense as he straightens a little, propping himself up on one elbow. Castiel aches for the glorious moment that just slid through their fingers.

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Yes.” Castiel says regretfully, hoping his expression conveys just how badly he does regret having to have this conversation, and how much he’d rather go back to enjoying the sensation of Dean’s tongue exploring his mouth. “It’s about Sam.”

 

Dean’s shoulders become even more rigid at the mention of this name. Castiel stares at them, wondering how much kneading it would take to loosen the knots Dean has worked into his muscles at this point.

 

“What about him?” Dean asks, sounding beyond anxious, disrupting Cas’s musings.

 

“I’m concerned with his recent behaviour.” Castiel admits, being purposefully vague. He wants to ease Dean into this, because if Cas is correct, which he usually is about such matters, the older Winchester will not have a calm reaction to what Cas is about to say. Dean just waits, mock-patient, shoulders as stiff as two planks. Castiel takes a deep breath, readying himself for Dean’s imminent outburst. “He’s been spending time, _voluntarily,_ with… the Kappa Sigma’s.”

 

Dean says nothing for a moment, and Cas holds his breath, studying every inch of Dean’s face for a clue of how he might be feeling.

 

“Oh.” Dean says eventually, sounding disinterested. Cas blinks at him, uncomprehending. What an anti-climax.

 

Maybe he didn’t explain it right? He tries again, placing a hand on Dean’s arm, trying to put the solemnity he feels is necessary into his voice. “You do understand, right? Sam’s hanging out with those dickheads from your rival Fraternity. He didn’t get home till eleven last night, and when I questioned him, he said he’d been round at Kappa Sigma, drinking and God knows what else.”

 

Dean smirks a little bit at Cas’s severe expression, sitting up further and pushing the covers off himself. “I’m sure it’s fine, Cas.” Dean says inexplicably as he finally removes himself from the bed; Cas is too shocked to pine for him to return. “Sam’s not stupid. Yeah, maybe he’s been taken in by the promise of a few free beers – who wouldn’t?”

 

Um, me, Cas can’t help but think, a little annoyed at Dean’s blazé reaction. Honestly, the guy is so unpredictable. One minute he’s got Sam on a tight leash, afraid of the kid dipping his toe in a puddle let alone doing a kegstand, and now he’s acting as though Sam is perfectly trustworthy and capable of taking care of himself. It’s nonsensical! Especially after what happened at Anna’s party, one would think.

 

“But Sam’s gotta know these guys are assholes.” Dean continues, oblivious to Cas’s frustration. “I mean it’s obvious. You gotta give him a little credit, dude. He’s prob’ly just milkin’ 'em for all he can get.”

 

“I don’t know,” Cas protests, forcing himself to ignore Dean’s sigh, “the way he was talking about them, Dean-”

 

“You worry a lot, y’know that?” Dean asks, cutting Castiel off yet again, and Cas just presses his lips together, huffing in annoyance. Dean smiles at him though, and it’s extremely distracting, especially as he has yet to put on a shirt. Cas watches, dazed, as Dean wanders back over to the bed, bending down to place a kiss on Cas’s lips. “What’d I say, huh? Sammy’s not your responsibility. The only thing you need to be worryin’ about is whether I’m gonna behave later.”

 

Dean winks at him, awakening the sharply winged butterflies that had lain dormant in Cas’s stomach for the morning until now. Oh God, he thinks, tonight is the night! He’ll get to do things to Dean he’s barely dared dream of this very evening. He can feel himself reddening, the flush creeping from his cheeks down to his neck, blooming across his chest.

 

He frowns at himself internally as Dean chuckles softly, tracing the blush with his fingertip. He’s not exactly in character, is he? He needs to steel himself for later, prepare. Summoning up all the courage he can muster, he forces himself to look deeply into Dean’s eyes.

 

“You’d better.”

 

Dean’s eyebrows shoot upwards, and he smirks, winking again. He doesn’t respond, but Cas thinks he may see the barest hint of a responding blush on Dean’s cheeks.

 

Dean stands up and starts dressing before he can do anything about it.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s all very well Dean saying that Cas needn’t worry about Sam, but how much truth is in that statement? After all, would Dean let Cas off the hook if Sam got in trouble while he wasn’t there? Cas is always around after all. He’s the only one sensible and present enough to prevent Sam getting himself into scrapes. He can’t just sit idly by while Sam runs off with the Kappa Sigma bunch – who knows what could happen?.

 

Those idiots are undoubtedly just using Sam as a way to get to Dean. Psi Delta Alpha is their greatest enemy, and Castiel has no doubts that they would wish Dean, and all of the others with him, to go down in flames before the end of the year if they could.

 

Sam should know better, Castiel thinks, he should know to be careful.

 

These are the thoughts circling around in Cas’s brain as he takes his morning shower. He’s broken out of his musings by a loud thumping on the door – not an unusual occurrence when he showers at the Frat house.

 

“Hurry up in there, man! I’ve gotta leave soon!”

 

To Castiel’s surprise, it’s Sam’s voice. That is a little unusual – where does he need to go, after all? Nevertheless, Castiel shuts off the shower – he’s finished anyway, he was just lost in thought.

 

He grabs the towel he took from Dean’s room and wraps it around himself, opening the door to find an annoyed-looking teenager, managing to look quite menacing in his Game Of Thrones pyjamas, who blinks, irritated, as steam pours out of the bathroom.

 

“Finally,” Sam mutters crossly, pushing past Cas into the bathroom. Castiel stares at him, bemused, and Sam raises his eyebrows. “Were you planning on staying, or…”

 

Castiel blushes a little. Thankfully, he can easily attribute it to being flushed from the shower. “Sam, where are you going?”

 

Sam blinks at him, looking at Cas as though he’s crazy. “…To shower.”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes. “No, I mean, what are you doing today?” Sam seems to dither, and so Castiel decides to press him. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

 

Sam sighs. “I’m… I’m going to the library. With Jess.”

 

Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up. “Jess? From the party?”

 

“Yeah. What’s it to you?”

 

This time it’s Castiel’s turn to sigh. “Sam, I know you think I’m an asshole for-”

 

“No, Cas.” Sam interrupts, rolling his eyes very slightly. “I get it, whatever. You have to tell Dean everything. I don’t care.”

 

Castiel doesn’t quite know how to respond to that. “Okay, but Sam, I never meant to-”

 

“I said it’s fine, Cas.” Sam protests again, clearly getting pissed off. “Look, unless you have any more third-degree questions for me, can I shower please?”

 

Castiel wishes he could leave it there. He wishes he could trust Sam and walk away, then maybe an inch of what had been the start of a promising friendship between them might be saved. But he’s too worried. He can’t do it.  And heck, he’d rather Sam hated him than Dean.

 

“Are you really going to the library, Sam?”

 

“Are you serious?!” Sam cries, affronted. “Jeez, it’s worse than living with Dad!” Castiel wishes he didn’t know as much as he does about the Winchester’s father, so that wouldn’t have hurt so much. “I said I’m going to the library, alright? Now butt out!”

 

With that, Sam closes the bathroom door between them, leaving Cas standing in the hallway, clad in only a towel. It’s lucky he didn’t leave his clothes in there, he thinks.

 

He sighs to himself, cursing internally for handling that situation so badly. But Sam isn’t going to the library all day, Castiel would bet money on it. What can he do, though? He could follow Sam, he supposes, but now he not only risks pissing Sam off by keeping too-close tabs on him, but also pissing Dean off! Dean had specifically said this morning that Cas should ‘give the guy some credit’. That basically translates to 'leave him the Hell alone'. 

 

Castiel supposes that’s just what he’s going to have to do. Who knows what the right thing is anymore, he thinks miserably, trudging back along the hall towards Dean’s room. He passes Gabriel’s closed door on the way, hearing scuffling sounds from within.

 

Smiling just a little, Castiel stops to listen, staying very quiet for optimum audience pleasure. If the banging is anything to go by, Gabriel has lifted up the porous box on the floor containing the dozen or so moths Alfie had so kindly donated to the cause.

 

“Little fuckers!” Gabriel cries, and Castiel, unfortunately, fails to stifle his giggle.

 

Before he can run, the door to Gabriel’s room is thrown open, and there stands Gabe himself, out of breath, slightly manic in appearance, and clutching a rolled up porno mag in one hand. By the looks of him, Gabriel hasn’t slept much.

 

“Cassy,” Gabriel says, his voice sounding strained, “I don’t know whether to be furious or impressed. I think I’m a little of both.”

 

Castiel raises his eyebrows, smirking. “Did you sleep well?”

 

Gabriel doesn’t answer, choosing instead to unfurl the porno mag he’s holding, smoothing it out in awe and holding it up for Cas to see.

 

“I mean,” Gabriel says, “the level of detail you went to alone is astounding.”

 

Cas grins, knowing what Gabriel means even before he opens up the porn mag, but letting himself be shown anyway. He’s proud of his work, after all. Each of the girls – naked, partially clothed, mature, young, heavy or trim – they’ve all had their faces replaced with various Novak family members, including their mother, their grandmother and even Castiel himself. It was a painstaking task, sure, gluing each face to each sticky, overthumbed page, but the effect is priceless.

 

Gabriel flicks through a couple more of the pages, marvelling at Castiel’s handiwork, a slightly nauseous look on his face. At length, he closes the magazine, running a hand through his hair. A single moth flutters free, escaping into the hallway.

 

“I never would’ve guessed you had it in you.” Gabriel tells Cas seriously, and again, he looks as though he’s deciding between clobbering Cas or buying him a drink. “Just… out of curiosity, how much more do I have to endure?”

 

Castiel grins, adjusting the towel around his waist. “That would be telling.”

 

Gabriel opens his mouth to ask further questions, but at that moment, the obnoxious foghorn sound of Gabe’s text tone interrupts him. Gabe reaches into his pocket warily, looking fearful about what he might find on his phone screen.

 

“Aw, crap. Not again.” He mutters, reading something on his phone. Castiel hides a smirk behind his hand. “Cassy, how many girls did you email dick pics to, huh? Give me, like, a ballpark figure. Do I still have a chance at scoring with the Freshman girls?”

 

“I think the real question is: ‘why do you have an entire folder filled with photographs of your genitalia on your desktop’?” Castiel retorts, and turns to go, smiling to himself.

 

“Come on! As if you don’t do that! As if _all_ guys don’t do that!” Gabriel calls after him, and Cas scoffs, not bothering to reply to that absurd statement. “That way if I need one, I’ve got one handy – good lighting, freshly trimmed- you can’t tell me that when you send a dick pic you take it right there on the spot!”

 

Okay, Castiel can’t help responding to that. He turns, looking at his brother pityingly. “I don’t send dick pics, Gabe. I actually thought it was an urban legend until I found your stockpile.”

 

Gabriel’s foghorn phone sounds again, and he groans as he sees the text. “You sent one to Kali? Man! Not cool. I was _this_ close to gettin’ in her panties!”

 

Castiel ducks into Dean’s room, closing the door behind himself without another word. This is nothing, he thinks, smiling as he drops the towel. Wait until Gabriel sees that when Cas sent his photo album to ‘every female in the college’, he didn’t restrict himself to the student body.

 

It’s a slightly evil laugh that escapes Castiel’s lips as he starts to dress for the day.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s almost 7pm, and Cas is wondering how likely it is that his heart is failing. He’s a reasonably athletic, young, toned adolescent with no prior health conditions. Logically, he knows that there is no reason for his heart to explode in his chest, yet that’s what he feels is about to happen.

 

He paces round Dean’s bedroom one final time, checking everything off on his fingers that he thinks he will need for later, and double checking where he put everything, so he’s completely sure. Does Dean ever get like this? He wonders. Has the older Winchester ever worked himself up into a panic over whether his domination techniques will be good enough, or sexy enough, or whether he’ll chicken out halfway through?

 

Somehow, Castiel doubts it. Dean looks like he was born for this shit.

 

But he can’t think like that tonight, Cas tells himself. Tonight is about switching things up, after all. He tries to breathe deeply, ignoring the tightness in his chest and focusing on the slow expansion of his lungs as he inhales. He can do this, he tells himself for the millionth time. It’s going to work out great.

 

Anyway, Cas thinks brightly, trying to distract himself, there’s a whole evening of Winchester brotherly-bonding to get through before he and Dean get into the good stuff.

 

He heads for the door, glancing in the small mirror Dean has tacked to the wall, checking his general appearance. Thanks to a good night’s sleep in Dean’s arms, and a cheeky lie in this morning after he left, the dark circles under Cas’s eyes have faded considerably, and he even has a slight flush to his cheeks. It’s the anticipation, the nerves, he thinks, making him feel hot and anxious, making him blush before Dean has even gotten home.

 

He runs a hand through his hair for the zillionth time, tousling it a little in the way Dean likes, and then he sighs, turning to go. As he exits Dean’s room, he can’t help but feel a little self-conscious. The outfit he’s chosen took over an hour of painstaking decision-making in front of his closet mirror back in his dorm.

 

He’s gone for a classic black shirt and dark jeans. He’s aware that he never wears anything like this, and he’s legitimately concerned that someone will call him out on it. The only other time he’s ever worn this shirt is for his college interview, and he felt awkward in it even then.

 

He feels strangely confident in it though, and he’s noticed people’s reactions as they see him wearing it when they walk by. The material is expensive, and feels smooth against his skin. The fit of the shirt hugs him unlike any of his other clothes. He can’t be totally sure of course, but he thinks Dean will like him in this shirt.

 

And he’s rarely wrong about these things.

 

* * *

 

 

Sam barely speaks to Castiel when he gets in at just gone 7. He glances into the living area, where Cas is knelt down before the TV, putting a DVD on, and sniffs audibly before heading to the stairs.

 

“Hey, wait!” Cas calls after him, stumbling a little as he gets to his feet. He ignores the smirk twisting Sam’s lips as he trips on his way over to the kid. Man, this kid has a serious problem with him all of a sudden. “Stick around. Dean’s gonna be home soon and he thought we could all watch a movie together.”

 

Sam stares at Cas for a moment, then sighs, looking away. “Oh, he's coming home? To spend time with _us_? How big of him.”

 

Cas squints at the bitter sarcastic tone of Sam's voice. This kid is decidedly not happy. Annoyingly, Cas has no idea what to do about it. He changes tack, trying to distract Sam. 

 

“How was… the library?” Castiel asks, careful not to say anything that might anger Sam further.

 

“Huh?” Sam asks, looking confused, and then cottons on. “Oh, right. The library. Yeah, it was cool.”

 

Castiel tries to look as gullible as possible, as though he swallowed that whopping great lie whole. “Cool.” There’s a pregnant pause, as awkward as it is prolonged, and Sam shifts from foot to foot, hitching his rucksack up his shoulder. “So, will you watch a movie with us?”

 

Sam shrugs, looking disinterested. “Do I have a choice?”

 

Castiel just blinks, stunned to silence by Sam’s spiteful attitude. How is he supposed to explain Sam’s coldness towards him to Dean? They’re supposed to be getting along famously by now. Cas still doesn’t really understand why Sam seems to dislike him so much.

 

Sam rolls his eyes at Cas’s expression, sighing again. “Relax, man, I’m- I’m kidding, okay?” He glances over towards the door. “I’ll come back down when Dean gets home. I’m gonna dump my stuff down upstairs.”

 

“Okay, Sam.” Castiel replies, trying and failing to keep the hurt out of his voice. If Sam is affected by it, Cas doesn’t see.

 

He turns on his heel and heads back to fiddle with the DVD player. He really needs to do something about his incompetence with technology. His shaking fingers as he hears the steady sound of footsteps ascending the stairs behind him aren’t helping the situation either.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean gets home at 8, which is an hour later than he said he would. Castiel tries to force down his annoyance, even if he has had to spend the whole hour on his own on the sofa, playing games on his phone and running down the battery, periodically interrupted by a yelp of horror or surprise from Gabriel’s room upstairs.

 

By now, Gabriel has probably been sent death threats by the entire population of females on campus, has obviously found a way to shut off Rick Astley’s caterwauling, and is still battling against the moths flying about his room. He has a long way to go before his punishment is over, Cas thinks, smiling happily to himself.

 

At long last, the front door opens, and Castiel jumps up from the couch immediately, heart in his throat. All his nerves decide to attack him at once, even though he thought he’d managed to calm himself down. But this is really going to happen, he thinks, practically wild with anxiety all of a sudden. It’s going to happen _now, tonight._ He couldn't feel more unprepared, suddenly. Which makes no sense as he's been preparing all day - but still.

 

He stands, shellshocked in the middle of the room, frozen stiff like a spooked kitten, watching helplessly as the front door opens. Will Dean like his outfit? Will Dean be in a good mood? Is Dean going to be angry with him about Sam’s attitude and will that mean they can’t do what they have planned? He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. What does he normally do with them? He leaves them awkwardly by his sides, but it feels wrong.

 

Too late, he thinks, because Dean is walking over the threshold, looking weary, but happy to be home. He’s not wearing his football uniform, as Cas expected he might be. Instead, he’s wearing quite a nice outfit. A shirt, open at the collar, olive green in colour, and his nice, unstained jeans. The shirt brings out his eyes, Cas notes – even from over here Cas can see the brilliant flash of chartreuse.

 

He must have showered and changed after practice, Cas guesses, wondering why Dean did this when he knew he'd be coming home straight after. For some reason, the thought sends a sharp undulation of thrill down Cas's spine. 

 

“Cas?” Dean calls, having not noticed him yet. He looks towards the stairs, heading for them, assuming Cas is in his room, probably. “You here?”

 

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel says, softer than he means to, from where he stands in the living room, making Dean’s head whip round to face him. 

 

Okay, Castiel says to himself, from this moment on, you are in control. That means he has to keep it up for the whole night, no slipping back into their usual pattern of Dean being the dominant one. Everything about Cas’s attitude should exude authority, and Dean should be able to feel it, every moment they are together, starting now.

 

Dean drinks him in for a moment, swallowing. Cas notes the movement, but doesn’t react to it. Dean starts to walk towards him, careful and slow, green eyes raking over Cas’s body.

 

“Hey, Cas.” He says, closing the distance between them in slow, easy strides. “You look… wow.”

 

He can’t help the blush. He never can, it’s too overwhelming to have Dean compliment him like that, so blatant and unreserved. He ignores the blush this time though, forcing himself not to react too strongly. Instead, he just smirks, and sits down on the sofa.

 

“Don’t I get a kiss?” Dean asks, following Cas’s movements with a slight hunger in his expression.

 

After a moment of dithering, he too sits on the couch, one arm resting along the back, behind Cas. Castiel is careful not to lean back into it, as he usually would.

 

“If you’re good.” Castiel responds smoothly, proud of himself for keeping his voice even. He purposefully doesn’t look at Dean’s face, he’s not sure he’d be able to handle seeing the boy this close up just yet, while he’s still getting the hang of things. “Do we have any beer?”

 

There’s a moment of silence, and Cas wonders if Dean heard him, or if he’s rethinking everything, about to call the whole thing off, but then he starts to sit forward.

 

“Uh, yeah prob’ly. I’ll go look.” With that, Dean lifts off the couch, and heads into the kitchen. Cas’s mouth falls open, watching him leave.

 

He can’t believe he managed to make Dean do that, simply by withholding a kiss from him. This domination stuff is powerful, he thinks, stomach flipping with nerves.

 

“Where’s Sammy?” Dean calls from the kitchen, and Cas hears the distinct snap and hiss of two beer bottles being opened. Seconds later, there’s the sound of a third. Dean reappears, clutching three bottles in one hand. “Does he know we’re hangin’ out tonight?”

 

Castiel accepts the beer Dean hands him with a nod of thanks, pulling on it before answering. Dean’s eyes seem glued to his throat as he swallows, and Cas is reminded that he purposefully didn’t shave this morning, because Dean has told him in the past that he likes the slight ‘peach fuzz’ Cas tends to sport these days.

 

It had taken a few weeks of trial and error to totally understand Dean’s preference on the beard-front. Dean doesn’t like it too fluffy, nor does he like it too smooth – interestingly, contrarily to most people, what he seems to enjoy on Castiel is razor-edge stubble. He likes to sport a red patch around his lips after kissing Castiel, likes to run his lower lip over the pinpricks of hair, smiling down at Cas after, his mouth probably on fire, tingling from the stubble burn, and loving every second.

 

So, that explains why Dean is staring so intently now, at least. Castiel ignores the familiar itch under his skin, begging him to give in and turn his face to kiss Dean senseless, to welcome him home after a long day and let Dean do as he pleases to Cas’s pliant, willing body. But he doesn’t.

 

Instead, he says: “Sam said he’d be joining us shortly.”

 

As though summoned by Cas’s words, at that moment there’s the sound of a door opening and closing on the upstairs landing, followed by hasty footsteps jogging down the stairs. Both Dean and Cas turn to look; Dean’s hand brushes Cas’s, and Cas feels the zing of electricity it creates in every cell of his body.

 

He drinks more beer, trying to dull the sensation. It doesn't work.

 

“Sammy!” Dean cries out, grinning, as the boy himself rounds the corner of the stairs, coming into view. “Get over here. Feels like years since I last saw you.”

 

“Yeah.” Sam deadpans, walking over to the couch and slumping down on it the other side of Dean, barely sparing Dean a glance. “It _does_.”

 

Cas holds his breath as Dean’s brow creases, taking in Sam’s coldness for the first time.

 

“Hey, what’s the matter? You okay?”

 

“I’m fine, Dean.” Sam tells him, shooting him a very obviously forced smile. “Are we watching a movie or what?”

 

“No one’s watching anything till you tell me who shoved that stick up your ass.” Dean says, his shoulders stiffening, his body turning to face Sam more directly.

 

Sam scowls at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “I said I’m fine! Jeez, what is it with you two?”

 

Oh God, Cas thinks, gulping quietly. Now there’s no escape, Dean knows Cas is involved in Sam’s bad mood. Sure enough, Dean turns to look at Cas, looking confused. Cas really shouldn’t find it so hot, it’s nonsensical. There’s not much about Dean that isn’t hot, though.

 

“What’s goin’ on?” Dean asks the general room, eyes flicking between Sam and Cas, as though he can see the strain between them like a taut rope.

 

“Nothing’s going on, Dean.” Castiel says quickly, just as Sam opens his mouth, probably about to yell. “Sam and I… had a fight this morning." The words form quickly in Cas's mind, practically tripping over themselves in his hurry to placate Dean. "I-I was in the shower, hogging the bathroom – I didn’t realise how late in the morning it was. Sam needed to go and meet his friend Jessica at the library, and… words were exchanged between us. I got angry, and I shouldn’t have.” Castiel pauses, darting a scared look at Sam, who stares at him in a mixture of curiosity and surprise. “Sam, I’m sorry.”

 

There’s a long silence, wherein Castiel looks mainly at the beer in his hand, Sam stares at the side of his face, and Dean continues looking between them, puzzled as ever.

 

Eventually, Sam speaks. “That’s okay, Cas.”

 

His voice is careful, unsure. Cas looks up at him, and gives him a brief nod, hoping the expression on his face is enough to convey the message that, at least for now, they should keep quiet about all that’s occurred, and stick with this story.

 

Castiel hates lying to Dean. But he tried to tell the guy what’s happening, about Sam and the Kappa Sigma’s, and Dean brushed it off like it was nothing. If he pushes it, not only will Dean get annoyed with him, but things with Sam will become unbearable, and he’s the one that has to be around the kid all the time, since Dean seems to be permanently absent these days.

 

If the three of them have any hopes of getting through this evening without any rows or altercations – and _especially_ if Cas wants to follow through with what he and Dean have planned for later – then this half-lie is the best way to smooth things over.

 

It will do them all good to have some bonding time without any added stress. Castiel glances at Dean, internally crossing his fingers that he accepts this story as truth, and they can get on with watching this film. After a tense few moments that seem to stretch on for years, Dean shrugs, settling back into the sofa cushions.

 

“Don’t sweat it, Sam.” He says, taking a swig of beer and handing the third bottle in his hand to Sam, winking. “Cas is a grumpy little fucker in the mornings.”

 

Cas narrows his eyes at Dean, who smiles at him, teasingly. Remembering himself, Castiel holds Dean’s gaze, taking a sip of beer, attempting to tell Dean, through expression alone, how he will pay for that comment later.

 

Slowly, the mischievous grin slips off Dean’s face, and he swallows heavily, gaze falling to Cas’s lips. So Cas is pretty sure it works.

 

“Um… Are we watching this film, or…?” Sam interrupts, staring at Dean and Cas with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Yes.” Cas says decidedly, still staring at Dean. “We are.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come on now, you know what's in this chapter ;)

They're about a quarter of the way through the film when Cas notices that Dean is behaving a little more strangely than usual. Generally speaking, Dean Winchester is a pretty laid back guy, able to feel comfortable in most social situations, probably due to a confidence that he is the most respected, well-liked person there - understandably, Cas thinks.

 

Now, however, in a situation where Dean is with two of the people he is perhaps closest to in the world, Dean’s posture is tense and rigid, a clear betrayal of his discomfort. It's peculiar to say the least. He sits directly between Cas and Sam, hunched slightly inwards on himself, both hands clutching the beer bottle before him. His fingers tap out a fast, nervous 'tink, tink, tink' on the glass, the label long ago peeled away.

 

Castiel sneaks a glance at him in the darkness of the room. The film they are watching - 'Bad Neighbours' - is very entertaining, and just Dean’s taste of film, but Cas can tell that Dean is barely even watching it. He doesn’t laugh at the funny parts – his eyes don’t even seem to be focused on the screen. He’s just staring ahead, tense and distracted. It’s starting to worry Castiel a little.

 

Cas looks over at Sam, then. Surprise, surprise, Sam’s given up on the film too. The younger Winchester has diverted his attention to his phone screen, grinning down at it as the artificial glow illuminates his grinning face in an eerie white light. His thumbs fly over the buttons, indicating that he is involved in some sort of marathon texting session.

 

Cas rolls his eyes. Why are they even bothering with this whole charade? Sam doesn’t want to be here, evidently. And to top it off, it looks as though Dean doesn’t either.

 

It’s then that a door opens and closes above them, and Cas looks up at the ceiling as though he could see through it, wondering who it is. Seconds later, feet are hurtling down the stairs, and Cas looks around just in time to see Gabriel, entering the room with a nervous grin.

 

“Sup, fellas?” Gabe asks, probably able to sense the weird, tense atmosphere currently filling the room but apparently just ignoring it nonetheless.

 

Hearing Gabriel’s voice seems to snap Dean out of whatever trance he's in, and he whips his head round to face the Trickster, practically snarling.

 

“Gabriel.” He growls, twisting round further to kneel on the couch cushions, hands braced on the back of the sofa.

 

It clicks then that Dean still hasn’t seen Gabriel since the other night at Theta Phi, with Sam and the kegstand. Crap, this could get ugly. Even Sam has looked up from his phone, a guilty, fearful expression on his face. Gabriel starts to back away, hands up in a silent surrender, eyes fixed on Dean as though he’s a wild animal.

 

“Dean, shit dude, I-” Gabriel starts to say.

 

“Can it, shithead.” Dean snaps, the fury rolling off of him in waves, practically heating the room. Castiel realises he needs to do some damage control here, fast. He tries to think, even as Dean continues. “You think avoiding me means you got away with it, huh? Listen, freak, no one messes with Sam on my watch without gettin’ seriously pounded-”

 

Dean breaks off as Cas places a gentle but firm hand on his arm. Reluctantly, Dean slides his gaze from Gabriel to Cas beside him, meeting his eyes. Cas’s heart feels like it’s about to break free from his ribcage, but he forces himself to trust in his own power of dominance. He can take control of this situation. He just has to look like he means it.

 

Ensuring that his face conveys the appropriate amount of severity, he holds Dean’s gaze, and shakes his head, just once, his mouth a firm line.

 

“I took care of it, Dean.” Castiel intones, his voice deep and sure. Dean blinks at him, slightly taken aback, it appears. “Trust me.”

 

For a moment there is silence, the air so taut between them all that it could be shattered with a simple cough.

 

Dean makes a noise of frustration. “Cas, he-”

 

Castiel says nothing, but he tightens the grip he has on Dean’s arm, clenching a little. It’s nowhere near hard enough to hurt Dean, but it’s enough to instil a sense of authority, which is exactly what Cas wants.

 

“I said I took care of it.” Cas repeats, making sure the irritation he feels very slightly at having to repeat himself comes through in his tone. “Gabriel will not behave like that again. He is sincerely sorry about his actions with Sam.” Castiel looks towards his brother. “Right?”

 

“Shit, yes.” Gabriel agrees, nodding vigorously, probably thinking of everything he’s had to deal with prank-wise in the last two days. No wonder he’s feeling sorry. Gabe turns his attention to Sam himself, extending a hand towards him. “I’m so sorry, dude. Shouldn’t have talked you into all the bad stuff.”

 

Sam, just out of sight of everyone but Cas, rolls his eyes.

 

Dean looks at Cas then, long and hard. His gaze flicks over to Gabriel once more, then he turns away, slumping back down into his seat on the sofa without a word. Castiel feels like he’s won a marathon; what an incredible sensation, to have this much control. He wonders if this is what monarchs feel like atop towering thrones, or even the President in the oval office. It’s intoxicating, this feeling of power, and Cas can barely sustain it within himself. He swallows, relishing every moment of Dean’s surrender – particularly over _Sam_ , something so incredibly important to him.

 

Castiel takes comfort in the fact that he _has_ taken care of things with Gabriel. The idiot’s not going to stage a repeat of that moronic behaviour from the other night anytime soon. Right now, he’s probably as likely to corrupt Sam’s innocence as he would the Royal baby, just to steer clear of more pranks, and it serves him right.

 

“I’m gettin’ another beer.” Dean announces, sounding defeated and strange. He turns to Cas, looking unsure, and a little turned on, if Cas is honest. How peculiar. “You, uh,” Dean pauses, eyes flicking to Cas’s mouth again, “you want one?”

 

“Yes, thank you.” Castiel replies, handing Dean his empty bottle, and Dean nods, pausing for another moment to stare before leaving the room.

 

“Ooh! Bad neighbours!” Gabriel cries suddenly, making Cas jump. “Can I watch? I call Dean’s spot!”

 

Sam splutters at him, rolling his eyes as Gabriel climbs over the back of the couch into the space Dean left behind.

 

“Seriously?” Cas asks a shushing Gabriel. “I just managed to talk him out of literally beating you to a pulp. You don’t think you should be walking on eggshells around him at least a little?”

 

Gabriel shrugs, reaching for Sam’s beer and taking a swig. Sam smiles fondly, letting him, with only a swat on the shoulder as punishment. Cas marvels at it. Why can’t he have that kind of relationship with Sam? Maybe Cas is just too much of a goody-goody for the kid. Maybe he and Sam are too alike to be friends.

 

Dean wanders back in, four beers clutched in his hand, which Cas thinks is mighty generous, considering what just happened. Dean rolls his eyes at the change in seating arrangements.

 

“Really, Gabe?” Dean asks, sounding tetchy. “I got you a beer, man! Why you gotta push it?”

 

“Those are my beers!” Gabriel retorts, taking two from Dean’s fingers, handing one to Sam before turning back to Dean and sticking his tongue out. A very unwise move if you ask Castiel, but no one does.

 

“You bought them with the Frat’s party budget!” Dean fires back angrily, and Cas decides to quickly intervene.

 

They’re interrupting the movie with their bickering, and yes he seems to be the only one watching, but he still wants to know how it ends. Sam’s gone back to texting, Cas notices, but that can’t be helped.

 

“Guys, it’s fine.” Castiel says, standing up from the couch.

 

At any other time, Cas thinks, Dean would take a step back at this point to give Cas more room to stand. After all, there isn’t much space between the edge of the sofa and the coffee table for him and Dean to be wedged in. But Dean doesn’t move an inch, just staring down at Cas right in front of him, their chests practically pressed together in the darkness, right in front of Gabriel’s view of the TV.

 

“What… what’re you doin’?” Dean asks Cas, his voice a breathy mess. In the low light, Cas can only just make out the flicker of the television in the emerald and white of Dean’s lidded eyes.

 

“I’m standing up so you can take my seat.” Castiel replies, having to use every ounce of his willpower to keep his voice even, to keep his breathing under control. He has to convince Dean he is relatively unaffected, but it’s hard – he’s so close, and it’s been nearly a whole day since Castiel tasted those lips…

 

“Jeez, guys, stop eyefucking and get out of the way!” Gabriel cries out from behind them, promptly returning Castiel to this earthly plane.

 

What is he doing?! Cas scolds himself silently. He can’t let himself get carried away like this, he has to remain entirely in control. He’s doing well so far, but he mustn’t let that get to his head.

 

“Where are you gonna sit?” Dean asks hesitantly, glancing at the empty space beside Gabriel unsurely.

 

“Seriously, guys,” Gabriel whines, his head ducking to and fro, trying to see through the cracks between their bodies, “I’m missing, like, the whole film. Man, Efron is a beefcake, huh?”

 

Castiel senses an opportunity here, and he takes a deep breath, stepping a little closer to Dean, taking one of the bottles out of his hands and gazing up into his eyes. He flutters his lashes a little, just to hammer the point home, and because he’s an asshole, he captures his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, his dick twitching in interest when Dean sucks in a breath.

 

“On you.” Castiel says, his voice low, quiet enough that it’s partially drowned by the film; only Dean would have been able to hear it.

 

Dean’s mouth falls open, and a look of pained longing creeps onto his face. Castiel steps away immediately, satisfied that his comment hit home, and inclines his head to the open space, waiting for Dean to sit in it. It seems to take a moment for Dean to gather himself, but eventually he moves, flopping into the space easily, gulping down some beer almost at once, before turning to look at Cas.

 

Castiel is careful about arranging himself on top of Dean. First, he hands Dean his beer, wanting the boy’s hands to be out of use for this, to exacerbate the situation as much as possible. Second, he perches on the edge of Dean’s knees, before sliding backwards, slow enough to be considered a tease. When he feels his ass hitting the unmistakeable bump of what appears to be Dean’s semi-erection, he shifts himself a little, well aware of what he’s doing, and drinking down the quiet little hissing sounds Dean makes in response.

 

He uses Dean like a chair at first, Dean’s chest being the back of it, but decides against it quickly, bringing his feet up and turning so that his back is against the arm of the sofa, his bum is resting directly atop Dean’s crotch, and his legs are tucked under himself, curled in Dean’s lap.

 

After he’s settled, he risks a glance at Dean’s face. The poor guy looks tortured, staring at Cas with unashamed yearning. Cas can feel Dean’s hardness growing underneath him, and it’s arousing to say the least. Cas is getting quite good at keeping his reactions under control though. He thinks it’s the adrenaline of the situation.

 

“Dean…” Castiel whispers, bringing their faces unfairly close. He knows he’s being an asshole, but he never gets to be the tease. He’s got to milk it while it lasts. Dean looks seconds away from grabbing Cas and kissing him senseless, but he’d better not, Cas thinks, or he’ll be punished later. “Can I have my beer?”

 

Dean closes his eyes in frustration, the quietest, choked off groan escaping his throat as he nods, handing Cas his bottle. Cas pulls on it hungrily, sealing his lips over the neck a short way, his eyes never straying from Dean’s.

 

“Okay, this is too much.” Gabriel says suddenly, and Cas glances at his brother, only to find that the guy has been watching them, possibly for some time. There’s a horrified look on his face, suggesting he’s been watching for far longer than Cas would like to think about. “The sexual tension on this couch is choking me. And I’m not talking about me and Sammy here.”

 

Sam looks up at the mention of his name, alarmed. When he sees Cas piled into Dean’s lap, he wrinkles his nose in mild disgust, turning back to his phone.

 

“Gabe, there’s nowhere to sit, I’m just-” Castiel tries to explain, but Gabriel holds a hand up, stopping him.

 

“Don’t try and pull that on me, Cassy. If anyone is well-versed in the ol’ sitting-on-the-lap-to-grind-against-the-boner trick, it’s me.” Gabriel says, and Castiel hides his grin by taking another swig of beer. Dean looks mortified, but says nothing.

 

“Sorry, Gabe.” Castiel says, hoping to smooth things over so that they can go back to watching the film, and Gabriel scoffs.

 

“Uh uh.” He objects. “Can you two just go do whatever disgusting, probably strenuous and undoubtedly filthy activity you’re obviously dying to do? You’re ruining the hilarity.”

 

“Actually,” Sam pipes up; Cas hadn’t even been aware he was listening, “that works for me. I’m pretty tired. If you guys wanna go to bed or…” He makes a face. “ _Whatever_ … I’m cool with it.”

 

Castiel glances over at Dean’s face. He looks pretty terrified of leaving this couch, but Cas kind of knew that would be the case when the time came. He also looks extremely turned on, which could be a signal to get the show on the road, so to speak.

 

He’s about to ask Dean what he wants to do, when he remembers that he’s in charge. It’s so weird, knowing he can make the decision now.

 

“You do look pretty exhausted, baby.” Cas coos at Dean, a mischievous glint in his eye that only Dean himself can see. He strokes a finger down Dean’s cheek, winking just slightly. “Maybe we should head upstairs.”

 

Sam jumps up first, taking everyone by surprise. He pockets his phone and stretches, clearly feigning tiredness. Nobody else seems to pay him much mind though, apart from Cas.

 

“Good idea.” Sam says, faking a yawn. Castiel narrows his eyes at the boy in suspicion – what is he really up to? “I’m gonna hit the sack too. Night, everyone.”

 

“Aw, what?” Gabriel pipes up suddenly, just as Sam shoots him a grin, turning to leave. “You guys are gonna leave me to find out Efron and Rogen’s fate by myself?”

 

Dean rolls his eyes, his exasperation over Gabriel outweighing his nerves for a moment, so it seems. Castiel is too busy watching Sam as he pads up the stairs, whipping out his phone again to grin and text once more. If Castiel had to place a bet, it would be a hundred bucks that Sam Winchester is not going upstairs to grab an early night right now.

 

“The baby dies.” Dean tells Gabriel, grinning, and Gabe lets out a spluttered noise, affronted.

 

“Dude! Spoilers!”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you not want me to spoil the ending?” Dean asks, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “Well maybe you should’a thought of that before you got Sammy so trashed he couldn’t see straight-”

 

“Dean.” Castiel interrupts, placing one hand on Dean’s shoulder, and the other, hidden from Gabriel’s view, lightly atop Dean’s crotch. “It’s bedtime.”

 

Dean stares into Castiel’s eyes, swallowing thickly, and nods. He drains the last of his beer, eyes flicking forwards, and then nods again. “Right.” He says quietly, maybe to himself. “Right, yeah. Okay.”

 

“Okay, I know I’m in the doghouse, Dean-o,” Gabriel says cautiously, staring at Dean and Castiel warily, like they might start grinding on each other right there beside him. “But I swear to God, if I hear my little brother’s sex noises tonight, I will be forced to take drastic action.” Gabriel pauses, wincing. “Go easy on him, okay? Pretty sure you could snap him in half.”

 

Castiel is swallowing his laughter as Gabriel talks, eyes never straying from Dean’s. Oh, how wrong Gabriel is about tonight’s events. Dean says nothing in response, just stares at Cas, still mildly terrified.

 

Castiel gets up slowly from Dean’s lap, careful not to jostle Dean too much, and extends his hand, helping Dean off the couch as well.

 

As he leads Dean away from the living area, into the darkness of the rest of the house, their joined hands becoming slippery with Dean’s nervous sweat, Castiel turns once more.

 

“Night, Gabe.”

 

“Yeah, whatever, have fun being drilled into the mattress.”

 

At a level just below audible, Castiel replies. “He will.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Wow.” Dean says, looking around himself as Castiel closes Dean’s bedroom door behind them, locking it carefully, even pulling on it just to be safe. “This is… yeah.”

 

Castiel watches Dean from where he is, leaned against the closed door, eyes roving over Dean’s form. Dean is facing the other way, but he looks magnificent nonetheless, tall and imposing in his relatively small bedroom, hands dangling by his sides as he takes in what Castiel has done.

 

“You like it, Dean?” Castiel asks, biting his lip.

 

Now the time has come, the nerves he initially felt now create an incredible layer of excitement, making his heart pound and breaths quicken. He itches to touch Dean, to take and claim, strip him down, tease and lick and taste until the older boy is wild with ecstasy. Cas wonders if this is what Dean must battle with every time they do this.

 

“I… yeah.” Dean answers, swallowing audibly again, and he turns to face Cas, slowly.

 

Cas surveys his own handiwork for a moment. There are lots of candles. That had been something he thought necessary for this evening. Some of them are scented too; he bought relaxing, calming scents - jasmine, patchouli, lavender - aromas that would hopefully help put Dean at ease once he got into things. Apart from that, all Castiel really did was tidy up, and move the bed into the middle of the room. He'd also removed the duvet, and covered the mattress in soft towels.

 

On Dean’s bedside table, Castiel has laid out a number of oils, creams and… certain other things that he bought in preparation for the evening ahead.

 

Castiel smiles upon hearing Dean likes it, and walks towards him, threading arms around his middle, gazing up into his eyes. “Good.” Castiel’s heart is starting to pick up its pace; it’s because of the sudden proximity to Dean. He can smell Dean’s intoxicating scent – the fresh pine and rich, earthy spices. His head swims as he breathes it i; he needs to do something, needs to move things forward or he’s going to drive himself mad. “Kiss me.”

 

It’s a simple command, an easy one, just to ease Dean into things. Castiel sees the hesitance on Dean’s face, but he makes himself remain passive, just staying put, waiting for Dean to come to him. It takes a while, but eventually Dean ducks his head down, pressing his quivering lips to Cas’s.

 

Cas doesn’t let it go on long, though, awesome as it is. He pulls back a short way, the distance between them mere centimetres; Dean starts to look unsure.

 

“Listen, Cas-” He starts to say, but Cas cuts him off there, bringing his fingers to Dean’s lips and pushing against them.

 

“Shh, shh.” He murmurs. “You’re doing so good, Dean. Are you gonna let me make you feel good?” He pauses, his fingers still pressing over Dean’s mouth, meaning he can’t really reply. The look in his eyes is still one of unsurety though. “I’ve got so many treats lined up for you, baby. Sit right there, let me show you.”

 

Before Dean can have a hope of responding, Castiel pushes him back, catching him off guard so that he slumps down onto the bed, moving it a little way, but it doesn’t matter.

 

“Cas, baby,” Dean starts to say again, an apology in his voice, “I know I said I’d do this, but I don’t know if... um...”

 

This time, Castiel doesn’t need words. Dean trails off on his own as Cas’s fingers push the first button of his own shirt through its hole. He doesn’t stop there, unbuttoning slowly, watching as Dean’s eyes track the movement of his fingers, raking over the revealed skin as he goes.

 

“What’s that, Dean?” Castiel asks, his shirt almost all the way open. He pulls the ends out of his jeans.

 

“I, uh…” Dean says, gaze locked on Cas’s shoulders as he pulls the black shirt over them one by one, shrugging it down his arms. “I was sayin’, um-”

 

Castiel drops the shirt on the floor, walking towards Dean with a faux-concerned expression. Dean’s eyes seem fixed on his abdomen, but that’s fine.

 

“You’ve been so good, Dean.” Castiel says, keeping his voice low, and he hooks a leg over Dean’s thighs, perching on his lap, straddling him. Dean’s breath hitches; Cas threads his fingers into Dean’s hair, pulling his face upwards, forcing their eyes to meet. “I’ve got so many rewards for you, baby. Are you gonna be good for me? Let me give you what you deserve?”

 

Dean seems to be caught in some kind of internal battle from what Cas can see. It’s clear that he’s turned on, immensely so – Cas can feel the evidence pressing into him from below – but it isn’t surprising that Dean’s macho defence mechanism is still making this hard for him to accept.

 

Nevertheless, Cas thinks, he must persevere. Dean knows the safeword, after all. If he really wanted to get out of this, he could just use it.

 

Of course, Cas hopes he doesn’t, but the point is that he could.

 

“Wh-what’re you… gonna do?” Dean asks tentatively, and Castiel suppresses the incredible surge of pride and excitement that bubbles up inside of him at hearing these words.

 

Stay calm, he tells himself. Just because Dean is asking, doesn’t mean the battle is won. Careful to remain authoritative, Cas crooks a smile, tightening his fingers in Dean’s hair. Dean sucks in a breath through his teeth, closing his eyes for a moment. Cas takes the opportunity to bring his lips down to Dean’s ear.

 

“First, I’m going to continue taking off all my clothes.” He whispers, and when Dean shivers, he nips lightly at his ear. “Next, you’re going to do the same for me, aren’t you?”

 

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean nods eagerly, clearly one hundred percent okay with this part. Perhaps the key to easing Dean’s mind is laying out a clear plan for him, so he knows what’s in store.

 

Then again, another part of Castiel’s mind pipes up, Dean has always enjoyed surprises. God, this is so difficult. He has to make a decision though, Cas knows, and quickly too. Maybe he could combine the two things somehow? Lay out a structure of what's ahead, but keep elements of the surprise too? He decides to give it a try.

 

“After that,” Cas continues, trying not focus too hard on the fact he's basically winging it now, “you’re going to lay down right here, on your front. I’ve got a special treat for you, then.”

 

“S-special treat?” Dean asks, hesitant now, and Castiel lets their eyes meet again.

 

God. This is so nerve-wracking. If Castiel doesn't manage to get Dean on board with this, he can say goodbye to any chance of this ever happening. Dean might up and leave any second, dismiss the idea forever and ban Cas from ever mentioning the idea of switching again. 

 

“That’s right.” Cas answers softly, quieting his voice so that his own nervousness doesn't show. He crosses metaphorical fingers. “A surprise.” Dean nods very slightly, gulping, but seems to accept this. Castiel tries not to tear up in relief. He's convinced Dean, for now. Nothing wrong with trying to hammer the point home, he thinks. “I promise you’ll like it.”

 

“And… after that?” Dean asks. This time, Castiel just smiles, kissing Dean softly. Well, Dean knows what's going to happen then. If all of Castiel's plans work out, by the time they get to that point in the evening, Dean will be wondering what he ever protested about in the first place. 

 

Basically, Cas tells himself in order to keep his wildly fluctuating nerves under control, he'll deal with that bit when they get there. For now, Cas can just say something that will hopefully get the blood pumping through Dean's veins. He smiles wider. 

 

“Well,” Castiel replies, grinding his hips down just enough to part Dean's lips as he gasps out in surprise, “that all depends on how good you are.”

 

Dean’s brain seems to short circuit a little at that, and he chokes off a moan. Mission accomplished, Cas thinks as he begins to climb off Dean, giving him a look of warning when he reaches for Cas with grabby hands, attempting to get him to stay.

 

It takes a moment for Dean to catch on, but eventually he stops trying to manhandle Cas into position, and just watches as he steps a pace or so away, fingers flicking at his belt and fly, soon sending his jeans to the floor as well.

 

Dean licks his lips, eyes glazed and lids heavy. Castiel sends him a smirk from where he stands.

 

“Your turn.”

 

Dean opens his mouth in protest, aiming a glance at Cas’s boxers, clearly about to ask why they are still on, but at the last moment, he seems to forget it, probably realising that he would be punished for it if so. This is progress, Castiel thinks, hiding a smile, and Dean gets shakily to his feet.

 

He starts undressing quickly, pants first, hands slipping and fumbling on the belt buckle, so Cas decides to intervene.

 

“Woah, hold up cowboy.” Cas says, still smirking a little, and Dean hesitates; Cas can’t help but notice how insanely hot this is – Dean is _nervous_ for crying out loud. He’s a trembling wreck, weak with anticipation, following every order falling from Cas’s lips as though it will guide him through this labyrinth of uncertainty. “Go slow.” Dean narrows his eyes a little then, looking as though he feels Cas is purposefully making this hard, so Cas decides to explain. “You’re gorgeous, Dean. I want to see you reveal yourself to me, every inch.”

 

Again, Dean shivers a little. He takes a breath, his expanding chest straining the buttons on his shirt, and then responds to Cas’s words, moving with care now, fingers careful and slow as they work his pants open.

 

He pushes them down his legs with deliberation, lifting his eyes to Cas’s and then looking away quickly, as though he can’t bear to hold his gaze. Cas, however, watches intently, swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth as Dean undresses for him, watching the golden skin slowly reveal itself as clothing falls away, flickering yellow in the light of the candles.

 

When Dean has his shirt open, Castiel stops him, moving forwards and placing his hands over Dean’s. Dean stills at once, so obedient that it makes Cas’s head swim. He’s growing concerned with how much he loves seeing Dean this way, how much it thrills him to have Dean under his command. This level of power is truly intoxicating, it’s like a drug – and Castiel worries he’ll become addicted after just one taste.

 

“Let me.” Castiel intones, and Dean’s hands stutter, then drop from their positions.

 

Castiel licks his lips, directing his gaze to the shirt now, focusing on nothing but pushing the garment off Dean’s thick, heavily muscled shoulders, down his arms, until it’s entirely off of him.

 

He sweeps his hands over Dean’s chest once the task is complete, tracing the contours of Dean’s abs, his pectoral muscles, even dipping into his belly button. Dean says nothing under the attention, just watches Cas, breathing deeply.

 

Without telling him, Castiel trails his fingers downwards, over Dean’s hips, and hooks them into the waistband of his underwear, pushing them down his legs in one quick slide. Dean gasps, one hand flying out to clutch at Cas’s arm, but Castiel shushes him, running soothing hands over Dean’s biceps, leaning up to kiss him chastely on the mouth.

 

“So good.” Castiel murmurs when their faces are close. “So good for me.”

 

As a reward for not protesting, Castiel decides to place his hands on either one of Dean’s upper legs, eliciting another soft gasp out of him. He trails one hand upwards, running his fingers over the inside of Dean’s thigh, tangling in the soft hair there until Dean groans, his head falling forwards onto Cas’s shoulder.

 

Hmm, Cas thinks to himself, he probably shouldn’t allow that, but never mind. This is Dean’s reward, after all. His fingers continue their movements, lightly caressing over Dean’s balls, a feather touch as he brings them forwards, trickling gently over Dean’s shaft.

 

“Ah,” Dean hisses, jumping a little under Cas’s ministrations. “Oh God, _Cas_.”

 

That’s certainly enough then, Castiel thinks, drawing his hand away and placing it against Dean’s chest. Right then, he almost breaks, as Dean pulls his face away from Cas’s shoulder to give him the most desperate, pleading look Castiel has ever seen on his face. His brain short circuits. _Fuck_. Why is he doing this? All of a sudden he can’t remember. All he wants to do is sink to his knees right now, to take Dean into his mouth, give him what he so desperately desires, let him take it however he wants until he’s completely satisfied-

 

No. _Focus_ , Cas scolds himself. He can’t let himself be distracted by Dean’s gorgeous face, or expression, or words, or _anything._ All he has to do is get through everything he planned, and he’ll have something he’s been dreaming of for _months._ It will be a present for both of them, Dean will see that afterwards. All Castiel has to do is get them both through it.

 

“On the bed.” Castiel demands, drawing himself up to his full height as best he can. His voice is sharper now, terse even in order to combat the doubt in his mind. “Face down.”

 

Immediately, Castiel regrets the harshness of his words. The expression that drops onto Dean’s face is anxiety yet again, even fear, and before anything can happen, Castiel can tell they’ve hit a wall. Damn it, he thinks, and they were doing so well.

 

Dean fumbles, moving backwards a little to sit on the edge of the bed again, tentative and scared. He looks up at Cas with fear in his eyes and it damn near breaks the younger boy's heart. In that moment, all Cas wants to do is comfort him, to tell him it’s fine, that they can call it off, that things can go back to how they are normally – they can forget this ever happened.

 

He stops himself before the words escape his lips. He must be strong here. He’s not doing this for selfish reasons, he reminds himself. He wants Dean to experience the wonders of submission. Dean will enjoy it – and in the process he may even learn to overcome some of his reservations about masculinity and how it should be his failsafe, even if he doesn’t think it’s ‘who he is’.

 

Castiel sighs softly, inaudible to Dean, and goes to climb onto Dean’s lap again, straddling him carefully, winding his arms around Dean’s neck.

 

“What’s wrong, baby?” He asks, keeping his voice gentle. It's important that he fixes this now. He won't continue unless Dean is totally happy with it.

 

There’s a long, weighty silence, where Cas wonders if Dean will ever reply. The noise of the film still playing downstairs is just audible if Cas strains to hear it. He waits, patiently, urging Dean on with his mind.  _Just tell me how to make things better for you._

 

“I-I’m scared.” Dean says eventually, sounding very much like it took all he had to admit that. “I wanna do it for you, Cas, but I keep thinkin’ about it and it’s makin’ me all- fuck, I-”

 

Okay, Cas thinks, it’s time to step it up. Dean isn’t responding to things the way Cas himself would, so he needs to try a different tack. He needs to somehow tap into the things that Dean finds attractive about Cas, to play on them so that Dean loses himself in the moment enough to change his mind.

 

Without thinking about it too much, he grinds down against Dean, stealing his breath away. He does it again, reminding him of how good this feels, and Dean moans, wanton, clutching at Cas’s waist.

 

“You don’t want this?” Cas almost whispers, his voice low and rough, just how he knows Dean loves it. He pushes his hips forwards again. “Are you sure?”

 

“Ah! Cas, that’s not what I-”

 

“You don’t think it’ll feel like this, Dean?” Castiel interrupts, pausing to lick a stripe over Dean’s neck, biting softly where he feels Dean’s rapid pulse. “You don’t think it’ll feel as good as this? Better?”

 

Dean gasps as Cas continues, fingernails digging into Cas’s skin. “Fuck, Cas, I don’t know-”

 

“Think of how good it’ll feel, baby.” Cas murmurs, bringing his mouth up to Dean’s ear to mouth at it. He pulls away, staring into Dean’s lustblown eyes. “Fuck, you’re gonna look so pretty underneath me.” He kisses Dean hard, drawing another moan out of him. “Your pretty lashes fluttering,” he says against Dean’s lips, “those sweet little noises you make when you get all excited…” This time, Dean’s cry is open-mouthed and breathy, choked off as Castiel grinds down again. “Yeah, just like that.”

 

“Cas- oh, fuck-” Dean calls out, shuddering a little.

 

“What is it, huh?” Castiel asks him, staring deeply into his eyes. “You think it’s wrong, Dean, to do it this way? Is it breaking the rules?”

 

Cas sees it, the moment the wall up in Dean’s mind crumbles away, smashing to dust as Dean’s resolve breaks. He resists the urge to fistpump in triumph, but does shoot Dean a flirty smile, winking as he climbs off Dean again.

 

“Lie down on the bed, baby.” He says, and this time, Dean doesn’t protest.

 

He climbs onto the mattress carefully, trying not to disturb the towels Castiel has laid out. Resolve broken or not, he still looks as tense as Castiel has ever seen him – legs tightly pressed together, shoulders hunched, his face turned towards Cas, head resting on his arms.

 

It’s kind of perfect that Cas has planned this surprise part of the evening first, really, because how else would he ever calm Dean down enough to…

 

Well, they’ll get to that later.

 

He takes a deep breath, feeling his erection throb beneath his boxers as he surveys Dean spread out on the bed before him, naked and perfect; a sensational buffet just waiting for him to dive in. He ignores it though, for now.

 

Instead, he climbs up onto the bed as well, reaching over to the bedside table near Dean’s feet to grab one of the amber bottles, and then slinging his leg over Dean’s again, perching atop his ass, riding him like a horse.

 

Dean struggles to turn and look at him from his position, and Castiel pushes his head back into place insistently. He opens the bottle in his hands, squeezing a large amount of the syrupy, honey-coloured substance into his palm.

 

“Couldn’t help but notice,” Castiel begins, placing the bottle down on the bed and rubbing his palms together, “you’ve been looking awfully tense lately. All that stress – football, your job, Sam coming to stay. Thought I’d help you out with that.”

 

Once he’s sure the oil is warm enough, Castiel presses his hands into the expanse of Dean’s back, sliding them up and fanning out towards his shoulder blades, smearing the slick oil in his wake. Dean gasps quietly, muscles rippling under the attention of Cas’s fingers as he continues, working his way into the knots sitting below Dean’s shoulders, raking down his spine.

 

Castiel has been spending quite a lot of time reading about the art of massage recently. Ever since he came up with the idea to massage Dean as a kind of warm up exercise (foreplay, basically), it's all that interests him - and the amount of information available out there to learn from is astounding. Every free second he gets, Cas finds himself reading articles, checking books out of the library on the subject, or asking for tips in online forums. He's read about how to use his knuckles and the base of his palms to loosen stubborn knots. He knows exactly where to press and how hard in order to relieve tension and minimise pain. He's researched which oils and creams are best and safest to use, the differences between a sports massage, a regular massage and a particularly sensual experience. Most of all, however, he's learnt how to completely relax the person beneath him - even to arouse them.

 

Dean moans as Castiel circles his thumbs over a particularly knotted area, his brow creased in concentration. If the noises Dean is making are any indication, he is thoroughly enjoying himself, but Castiel feels he can do better. He reaches for the bottle of oil, squeezing a generous amount into his palm again.

 

“Damn, Cas…” Dean breathes, his voice shaking. “You sure know what you’re doin’, huh?”

 

“You’re so tense.” Cas comments, pushing harder, not missing the whimper escaping Dean’s lips as he does so. “Does it feel good, baby?”

 

“Y-yeah,” Dean gasps out as Cas trails his fingers through the slick oil coating Dean’s spine, all the way down to his hips, “fuck, yeah it feels good.”

 

Unable to resist, Cas pushes his hands as far as he can between Dean’s hips and the bed beneath, sandwiched between, squeezing lightly over his hipbones so that Dean twitches. He draws them away after a moment, resuming his work on Dean’s lower back, teasingly close to areas Dean must be yearning for him to touch.

 

“You look so good like this, Dean.” Castiel tells him, wanting to keep a steady commentary for the older boy, to assure him things are going well. “All naked and wet…”

 

Dean doesn’t reply, but his breaths come heavier, draw deeper as Cas continues to knead and press. Time for more oil, he thinks, near delirious with lust by this point. It’s taking every ounce of his self-control to resist just diving in, taking what he so desperately desires.

 

Scolding himself for even the thought, Castiel squeezes out more oil. The flames of the candles, plus the friction of their two naked bodies have made the room heavy with heat by now, so Cas pours the oil directly onto Dean’s back, drizzling it over him like a dressing on a delicious meal.

 

“Cas- ah…” Dean chokes himself off, and Cas notices Dean’s fingers clutching at one of the towels.

 

Placing the bottle down carefully, Cas leans forwards, chest sticking to Dean's moisture-slick back as he drapes himself over it, bringing his lips to Dean’s ear. “Yes?”

 

Dean shivers, eyes tightly closed, his mouth pressed into a firm line. Castiel brushes his lips against the shell of Dean’s ear, breathing gently over it, then lets his tongue explore the lobe until Dean shivers again.

 

In this position, Dean can undoubtedly feel Castiel’s hardness pressing against him, even through Cas’s boxers. Cas feels near crazy with need, and he can’t help himself grinding his erection into the swell of Dean’s incredible – naked – ass just a little. Dean groans as he does it, and if anything, that is a good sign.

 

“You’re gonna feel so good, baby.” Cas whispers against Dean’s ear, surprising himself with how filthy he sounds. His hands start to roam over Dean’s slippery sides again. “So warm and full… I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

 

Cas leans away then, back to his position sitting perched atop Dean’s ass. He rolls his hips again for emphasis, eyes fluttering as the electric sensations stemming from the movement ripple through his core.

 

The air is thick and heavy with moisture, the heady, fragrant scent of the candles burning enough of the oxygen to keep Cas almost drunk on the smell. All he can taste is the remnants of Dean's mouth on his own, the barely-there promise of Dean's come pouring down his throat later, intermingled with the intoxicating scent of the oil and Dean's sweat. The pheromones that must be filling this room could probably fill a crater, Cas thinks vaguely, pushing his groin into the swell of Dean's ass again, inhaling deeply. 

 

He stares down at Dean, transfixed on the body beneath him, given to him wholly. He’s not sure he can wait. Without dwelling, he shifts backwards slightly, straddling Dean’s upper legs now. He reaches for the oil again, pouring more into his hands and, biting his lip in anticipation, smooths them gingerly over Dean’s buttocks.

 

Dean tenses almost immediately, and Cas nearly freezes, almost moves his hands elsewhere, but the sight of the oil glazing over Dean’s golden skin is just enough to stop him. He kneads and rubs, continuing over the same area until the flesh feels soft and doughy; Dean must be over-sensitized by now, Cas is sure.

 

Eventually, after several minutes, if not more, Dean slowly starts to relax. His breathing is rough and deep, and he has all but melted into the mattress by now. He unclenches with caution, the taut muscles giving way one by one under Cas’s clever fingers, so Cas just kneads harder, rewarding him, and Dean moans prettily.

 

Castiel looks at him, draped inelegantly over the bed now, so much more loose, trusting, _ready_ than he had been before. Before Cas even knows what he’s doing, two of his oil-slicked fingers slip into the cleft of Dean’s ass, stroking lightly over the puckered skin there.

 

Dean tenses again, of course. It’s not unexpected, but Cas doesn’t let it deter him. It’s a far sight better than earlier, when Dean would probably have bolted out of the room if Cas dared try anything so intimate.

 

Castiel is – arguably – an expert in this area by this point, however. He knows that just to have someone touch this part of you, to feel the thrilling _wrongness_ of it, especially for the first time… it’s more than just a very good feeling. 

 

He waits, patiently, his fingers continuing their gentle caress over the dip of Dean’s hole, and sure enough, after a while Dean relaxes. Castiel realises as he begins stroking more firmly just how generous he has been with the oil. It seems to be everywhere - Dean is so slippery and wet that it’s pooled in the dips and curves of Dean’s body; all Castiel has to do is gather on his fingers, smearing it everywhere he can.

 

It’s certainly not going to be difficult to open Dean up, at least. Cas shivers at this thought, fingers pushing slightly against Dean’s entrance of their own accord, eager to get this plan into action. The feel of it makes Dean spasm a little beneath him.

 

“Do it,” Dean gasps out, hands bunched in the towel he’s laying on, “fuck.”

 

Castiel pauses, trying to work out the meaning behind Dean’s words. Do what? Surely he can’t mean… Castiel’s heart pounds. He presses his finger against Dean’s hole again, more insistent now.

 

"Unngh," Dean groans in response. “Fuck, come on, do it, Cas.”

 

Oh, Christ, Castiel thinks, swallowing thickly, sweat starting to bead on his forehead as he concentrates on not blowing his load right there and then. Dean _wants_ this. He wants Castiel to take things further, to open him up, to plunge his fingers inside and… God, Cas thinks, practically lulled into a trance by his own runaway thoughts. The mere idea of it is mesmerising.

 

Then again, Cas forces himself to remember, Dean is basically ordering him to do this. He can’t have that. He’s supposed to be in control. If Dean really does want this – an idea that Castiel feels he will be wrapping his head around for some time after all the uncertainty from before – then he had better prove it.

 

Castiel swallows again, pressing two warm, firm fingers against Dean’s hole. “Ask nicely.”

 

Dean makes a noise of desperate frustration, his fists tightening around the towel he’s clutching. For a long while, Castiel wonders if the stand off will last all night. The ever so faint noise of Bad Neighbours is just audible again in the lingering silence. Dean doesn’t seem to want to respond to Cas’s command, and Cas knows damn well that if Dean doesn’t answer in about two minutes, he will give in, give up, whatever- and do whatever Dean wants.

 

Then, just before Cas breaks, so muffled it’s barely a sound at all, Cas hears it. “Please.”

 

Dean’s voice is broken, utterly desperate, begging Cas for all intensive purposes. The younger boy wonders how fucked up it makes him that the idea of Dean begging thrills him so completely that he can feel the droplets of his own precome starting to drip down his thighs.

 

“Of course, baby.” Cas soothes, rubbing his free hand over the greasy expanse of Dean’s back and shoulders.

 

He takes a deep breath, stroking his fingers lightly over the puckered skin of Dean’s entrance once again, and then pushes forward with renewed force, breaching the opening until he has one finger, slippery with the viscous oil, snugly fitted inside.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean grits out, shoulders tensing, and Cas feels Dean’s muscles tighten around his finger, protesting against the intrusion.

 

Cas just keeps stroking over Dean’s back with his free hand, waiting patiently for him to relax again, soothing him with gentle caresses. Eventually, after what seems like years, Dean loosens himself enough for Cas to move a bit. He wiggles his finger experimentally, allowing for Dean to adjust to the alien sensation, and then, slowly, he pushes in deeper, allowing himself entry up to his knuckle.

 

“Fuck, Cas…” Dean hisses, shoulders tensing again, and Cas drapes himself over Dean’s back once more, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

 

“Does it hurt, baby?” Cas asks, genuinely concerned.

 

Dean shakes his head against the towel, eyes screwed shut. Castiel brings his free hand up to comb through Dean’s hair. “No…” Dean chokes out, and Castiel furrows his brow. Well, at least that's a good thing. “Feels… I-I dunno.”

 

“Do you want me to stop?” Castiel asks, confused by what Dean is saying.

 

“No.” Dean says, eyes blinking open to stare at Cas for the first time. His cheeks are flushed almost scarlet, and his pupils are pitch black, enormous in size. Castiel blinks at him, mouth falling open a short way at seeing the evidence of how aroused Dean is right now. “Don’t stop.”

 

Without a word, Castiel leans up again, continuing to thrust his finger gently in and out, this time studying Dean’s body language, watching the way his shoulder and arm muscles coil in time with Cas’s movements, feeling how Dean clenches around him when he’s as deep as he can go. He makes the mistake of imagining his cock in place of his finger, and groans, low and needy, cursing under his breath.

 

“C-can I have more?” Dean suddenly chokes out, sounding as though the question burst free of his lips of its own accord, and Cas just groans again, biting his lip. “Please?”

 

Oh, well fuck everything. Cas is totally done for. He doesn’t wait around, he just slides his second finger inside, joining the first. It’s like pushing into soft butter, Dean is so moist, giving so easily to Cas’s intrusion, as though he’s a practiced whore rather than an anal virgin.

 

Castiel is beginning to drive himself wild with his runaway thoughts. He fucks his fingers into Dean more rhythmically now, hardly daring to imagine what it will be like when he gets to slide himself in there properly, pushing his straining cock into the tight, untarnished heat. Dean pushes his hips down into the mattress, grinding his erection into the towels beneath him, and Castiel moans at the sight of it, pushing his fingers in deeper as a reward.

 

“Does it feel good, Dean?” Castiel asks, a little breathless by this point. He adds a third finger without warning, getting carried away, and the noise Dean makes is practically a wail, slightly muffled by the mattress.

 

“ _Fuck_. Yeah, Cas.” Dean assures him; Castiel can hear he’s speaking through gritted teeth. How extraordinarily hot. “Oh, _shit_. Feels so good.”

 

Castiel splays his fingers a little inside of Dean, stretching gently, preparing him for what’s next. He licks his lips as he thinks of it, practically drooling.

 

“I knew you’d love it.” Castiel says, a little smugly, he admits. “I fucking knew it.”

 

“Ah!” Dean cries out as Castiel thrusts his fingers in with vigour. “Don’t get cocky.”

 

Hmm, Castiel thinks, unable to help smiling when he notices Dean is too. Backchat, is it? Well, that probably deserves a punishment of some sort. Smirking to himself, Castiel flips his hand over, fucking his fingers in hard and deep before crooking them just so, searching for that one secret place that he knows is there…

 

“Ohmy- fuck, fuck _fuck! Christ-”_ Dean near shouts, his whole body tensing, arching slightly off the bed as Cas’s fingers glide and rub over his prostate.

 

“Do you think,” Castiel starts to say, his fingers continuing to milk that one particular area as Dean groans beneath him, one of his hands going to reach for his own crotch until Cas grabs hold of it, “perhaps, I was right, Dean? When I suggested that we try this?”

 

“Fuck, yes, okay you were right – please, Cas-”

 

“Please what?” Cas asks with mock-confusion, tilting his head to the side.

 

“I gotta… I gotta come, Cas… please.” Dean whines, and Cas just smiles ruefully.

 

“Not yet.” He says, firm and sure, pushing his fingers in once more before drawing them out completely.

 

He stares down at Dean’s entrance as he pulls his fingers out, so wide and open now, inviting him in. Dean’s hips shudder and twitch as Cas continues gazing, as though he can sense eyes on him, in this vulnerable place. Dean’s so pink, so clearly untouched here, it’s mouth-watering to look at. Before Cas can even think, he finds himself shifting backwards and leaning down to taste, flicking his tongue delicately against the rim.

 

“Ah!” Dean cries out, hips jerking. Castiel pins them to the bed at once, holding him in place. “Oh, God…”

 

Castiel knows all too well how good this feels. How unbelievably wrong, how filthy and erotic it is. His tongue plunges inside of Dean, unable to resist now that he’s had a first taste. Dean tastes different here, just as he does in each part of his body. Here his flavour is sharper, more metallic. If anything, finding this new place to let Dean's flavour fill his senses if even more of a turn on for Cas - he keeps going, eagerly. Dean moans and struggles against Cas’s hold, swearing repeatedly under his breath in broken little whispers. Cas licks him until he’s begging, until the words ‘please’ and ‘Cas’ are all that Dean seems capable of saying, and only at that point does Cas know his tongue is no longer enough.

 

He pulls away, reluctant to stop, but eager to finally, _finally_ take what he so desperately desires. He’d been right all along, of course, Cas thinks to himself as he hurriedly rids himself of his underwear, throwing it haphazardly aside, wrapping a hand around himself at last. Having Dean at his mercy this way, it’s indescribably hot, it’s everything he has ever dreamed.

 

He gazes down at Dean now, at the wreck he’s become, whimpering and pleading as Cas settles back over him, straddling Dean’s thighs.

 

“I’m going to fuck you now, Dean.” Castiel tells him, the lust dragging through his voice, keeping it low and rough.

 

Cas's dick is heavy in his loose fist; though it kills him a little, he doesn’t dare stroke too fiercely – he’s too turned on for that, and he wants to last inside of Dean for as long as possible. He hears Dean whimper, feels the muscles in his hips twitching and shaking.

 

“Fuck, yes,” Dean says, “hurry.”

 

“Can you get up on your knees for me, baby?” Cas asks, his voice gentle now, already coaxing Dean into position with his ass canted upwards, shoulders low. He moves shakily, legs trembling, but Cas holds him steady, positioning himself just right. “That’s it. I got you.”

 

As Cas inches forwards, the head of his dick bumps against Dean’s ass, and he hears Dean suck in a giddy breath. Taking himself in one loose hand again, Cas guides his cock into position, fitting himself snugly in the dip of Dean’s entrance. God, Dean’s so fucking wet. He’s practically dripping with Cas’s saliva and the massage oil, rivulets of it trickling out of him already.

 

Castiel forces his breaths to come evenly; he’s too turned on, he needs to calm down. He tries to think of other things as he normally does to distract himself when Dean orders him not to come, but he can’t. All he can focus on is this, happening right before him, Dean so fucking eager and willing, presenting himself for Cas to take, however he pleases.

 

He presses himself forwards, marvelling at how Dean’s hole stretches and flutters around him as he goes. Dean groans and curses; Cas notices vaguely that a corner of the towel where Dean’s hand is has been ripped.

 

“Shh,” Cas soothes him, barely holding it together himself, “you’re doing so good, baby. Just relax.”

 

“Fuck, Cas, it feels- ah!”

 

Cas curses then, scolding himself for getting too carried away, for pushing in too fast. Dean is so tight, so wet around him, the feverish heat and restriction all he can feel, all he can comprehend. He expected this to feel good, great even, but nothing like this. He wonders if he was always meant to be inside of Dean, and surely that must be the case, because that’s the only way a sensation this incredible would make any kind of sense.

 

Dean’s starting to rock backwards now, just a little, spearing himself shallowly on Cas’s cock a little at a time. Cas closes his eyes and tries not to think about it too much, lest this all be over too quickly.

 

Finally, after an age of careful, gentle inching forwards has passed, Castiel finds himself completely buried inside of Dean, his thighs and balls meeting the skin of Dean’s ass cheeks. He stops there for a moment, doubled over, bracing himself on Dean’s back, panting, gathering himself.

 

“Come _on,_ Cas.” Dean orders, and Cas balks a little, looking towards his face, surprised. “Fuck me already, I’m… I’m dyin’ here.”

 

Castiel blinks for a moment, the words sinking into his lust-addled brain. He doesn’t need telling twice. He pulls out, almost completely, feeling the muscles inside of Dean twitch and shudder as he does so, and then pushes in, sharp and deep. He would grin at Dean’s responding curse, but he’s too overwhelmed by how fucking _amazing_ that felt, how all he can think about is doing it again, procuring more shouts out of the man beneath him, filling him with come and muffling his screams of pleasure with his own palm.

 

So, Cas does it again, drawing out part-way and slamming forwards, setting up a steady, fast pace quite quickly, closing his eyes as the familiar, almost burning sensations of pure bliss singe their way through him. All he feels is arousal and pure, unrestrained lust rippling through him until he’s flushed and sweaty, able only to hear the roaring in his own ears and the occasional shout of his name in Dean’s voice.

 

Overcome by his own power in this position, Castiel reaches out and pushes Dean’s head downwards a little way, angling him even more, and as Castiel adjusts, he hears Dean scream. Castiel pauses for a moment, watching as Dean clutches behind himself desperately, urging Cas on. Cautiously, he thrusts in again, experimental now, and Dean’s shout of pleasure is so fractured he might as well have been shot.

 

Belatedly, through a haze of over-stimulation and a kind of raw, visceral thrill tattooing itself across every cell, Castiel realises he has found Dean’s prostate gland again, this time without the help of his fingers. He bites his lip as Dean groans out his appreciation, thrusting backwards against Cas, searching desperately for that sensation – one that he’s never experienced before tonight, Cas realises – again. Castiel doesn't need to be convinced, Dean's cries of ecstasy are persuasion enough; he picks up his pace again, ensuring to aim for that exact spot.

 

He gets rougher as his orgasm draws close, his fingers raking down Dean’s spine, hips stuttering and circling, each snap of his hips elongated so that the head of his dick drags against Dean’s inner walls, against that same place that makes him squirm.

 

“Fff- fuck,” Dean chokes out, sounding utterly devastated, “oh, God Cas I think I’m gonna-”

 

Before Dean can even get the words out, Cas plunges in one final time, relishing the slick, glorious tightness once more, and reaches around him to jerk Dean’s burning cock. Dean comes almost instantly, collapsing under the strain of his orgasm, soaking the towels beneath him with his seed as he cries out, long and loud. 

 

It’s the clenching around Cas’s cock that tips him over the edge, just as Cas suspected it would be. He gasps as he feels Dean tightening around him, milking him to the precipice of his orgasm and then sending him tumbling into the inevitable freefall, fireworks igniting through his core as he pumps his release into the boy beneath him, claiming him totally.

 

Cas prolongs the moment before he pulls out. He waits until Dean’s tremors have lessened to a steady, light shaking, until Dean’s breaths have grown less erratic, until his muscles start to release some of their tension.

 

When he pulls himself all the way out of Dean it’s like a plug being opened, the intensity flooding out of Dean in a great rush, along with a mess of Castiel’s own spendings.

 

Slowly, carefully, Castiel crawls up over Dean, peppering kisses along the damp expanse of his back until he’s level with the back of Dean’s head. With what seems to be a tremendous amount of effort, Dean rolls over to face him. He looks exhausted, entirely wrung out, his eyelids almost shut – the merest hint of green poking through his thick lashes.

 

“S’pose you’re pretty pleased with yourself.” Dean says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

 

Castiel huffs out a laugh, collapsing onto Dean’s chest, not even caring that the stickiness of their bodies is bordering on grotesque and they really, _really_ need to dispose of these towels. Not to mention shower. 

 

“You could say that.” Castiel replies, snuggling into Dean as he feels thick, still shaky arms wrapping around him.

 

Despite how incredible it is to have ‘control’, there will never be anything akin to the sensation of Dean encircling him, protecting him like he is right now, Cas thinks. It’s a guilty secret that Cas will never willingly give up, how much he just loves this - being under Dean's wing, his priority, his baby.

 

“So, are you thinkin’ you wanna make this a regular thing?” Dean asks, his voice suspiciously nonchalant - perhaps almost forcedly so.

 

Cas considers the question. He won’t pretend not to hear the nervousness in Dean’s voice, and he doesn’t take it lightly. This whole night has gone spectacularly well. Dean has behaved impressively, ended up giving himself entirely to Castiel, overcoming his reservations and allowing himself to experience something he perhaps never envisaged he would try.

 

Cas tilts his head up to meet Dean’s eyes, noting the carefully hidden hesitance in them. Against all odds, Dean enjoyed himself tonight despite only agreeing to this in order to please Cas. That’s more than just a win in Cas’s book – it’s a goddamned triumph. But Cas isn’t stupid, he’s not about to think that this is going to change the way Dean acts, in regards to their relationship or otherwise. Sure, he’s discovered something new about himself, he’s realised that there isn’t an urgent need for him to be totally in control one hundred percent of the time – but that’s it.

 

Castiel loves his and Dean’s relationship just the way it is. He loves the fluttery, nervous sensations that arise within him whenever Dean catches his eye. He loves that Dean can have him a drooling mess with the merest smile, or with a carefully placed touch on Cas’s waist. He wouldn’t change it for anything – heck, it’s what drew him to Dean in the first place.

 

Now that he’s let Dean experience the other side for himself, Castiel is more than happy to slip back into a routine that Dean will feel comfortable with once again. That doesn’t mean this 'switch' will never happen again – after all, if Cas read Dean’s reactions right, Dean apparently really seems to like this – but for now, they can just settle back into things, the way they’re good at.

 

Castiel presses his mouth to Dean’s then, taking the older boy a little by surprise. “I want what you want, Dean.” He murmurs against Dean’s kiss-blown lips. “Always.”

 

Things get a little hazy then – Castiel knows there’s more kissing, and a feeling of warmth spreading from the very tips of his toes right through to the follicles of hair on his head. He also knows they don’t get around to getting rid of those towels, or blowing out the candles, at least not until the early hours of the morning. 

 

It’s kind of okay though. Because at around 3am, Castiel wakes up bathed in flickering golden light, a little damp, sure, maybe even a little grossed out by how they've fallen asleep - but safely encircled in Dean’s arms. As long as he can wake up like that - what is there to complain about? 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time, my lateness has reached new extremes I am aware. I apologise. I moved flats though - so I kind of have an excuse. Plus, this chapter turned out to be kind of a pain to write. But never mind, I'm happy with it now :) Thanks for reading, lovelies - hope you enjoyed it too. 
> 
> xxx


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean takes his stress out on Cas, Sam has a revelation that makes everyone want to punch him, and Cas has a run-in with a manipulative, lecherous Frat boy. And it's NOT Gabriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there are some things to warn you about in this chapter. 
> 
> This fic gets a little bit messy and emotional from here on out. I'm going to say that there are mentions (but not explicit mentions) of implied child abuse instilling self-deprecation from a young age. Dean's self-worth is an issue that the fic is dealing with all the way through I'm sure you've noticed but in this chapter it gets particularly bad.   
> Also, this is probably the most important one - there is implied sexual abuse in this chapter HOWEVER I would encourage you to read it anyway and take note of my notes at the end which will explain a few things in case anyone gets the wrong idea. There will be no descriptions of rape, gratuitous violence or any other such horrors in this fic, you have my word.

Though he’s hoping for a pleasant awakening, the thing that rouses Dean Winchester is the unmistakeable, horrifying sound of his bedroom door crashing open, leaving him with mere seconds to prepare himself for whoever opened it witnessing what’s going on inside.

 

“Dean, Meg and some of the guys are gonna drive me into town, is that- Oh my God!” Of course, it’s Sam, Dean thinks, groaning internally as he sits up, making sure the covers entirely shield his and Cas’s nakedness from his baby brother’s view. “Gross, guys- come on!”

 

Cas is stirring into life beside him, curled in the crook of Dean’s arm, face all scrunched and adorable because he can’t tell what all the commotion is about. Dean can’t help but smile at him a little.

 

“Dean!” Sam yells, a hand over his eyes, apparently now pissed off that he’s had to stand there and look at this abominable sight for this long. “It’s okay for me to go, right?”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean says, batting his hand towards Sam, not even really registering what the kid is saying. Something about going into town? Why does Sam think he would even care? “Go have fun. I’ll see you later. Keep your phone on.”

 

Castiel blinks up at Dean, bleary-eyed and precious; Dean can’t possibly help kissing him.

 

“Ugh,” Dean hears vaguely from the doorway, “don’t you guys ever take a break? It smells _gross_ in here by the way.”

 

The door slams shut, and Dean sighs, breaking apart from Cas to stare at the place Sam disappeared. “Good mornin’ to you too, little bro.” 

 

Cas breathes in deeply beside him. “I think it smells good in here.”

 

Dean shoots him a fond smile. “Yeah, well you would, wouldn’t you? Little perv.” Dean’s hands find Cas’s sides and tickle him until he squeals, fists batting ineffectively at Dean’s shoulders. After about ten seconds of torture, Dean gives in and kisses him instead. “I think it smells good, too.”

 

Cas kisses back enthusiastically then, drawing Dean’s tongue into his mouth with insistence, flopping back against the pillow and letting Dean kiss him senseless. Dean goes along with it, pretending not to know what the kid is doing despite it being obvious. Cas might be a big old smartypants in most areas, but Dean can recognise sexual tactics when he sees them. Cas is behaving almost suspiciously well right now, slipping right back into his submissive role and letting Dean take all the control. As a thank you, Dean suspects, for going along with everything last night. 

 

Interesting.

 

“What did Sam want?” Cas asks in a mumbly voice after a while, Dean's hands either side of his face because tactics or not - Cas is hot and Dean fucking loves this. The words are almost indecipherable as they’re spoken against Dean’s lips, making him smile.

 

Half a minute later, Dean realises what Cas has asked, and sighs into Cas’s mouth, not wanting to think about Sam and his weird stroppy-teenage behaviour right now. “I dunno." He answers half-heartedly. "Said somethin’ about goin’ into town today and was I okay with it.”

 

Cas pauses, his eyes flicking open, not kissing back for a second as he processes the words. “Who’s he going with?”

 

Deciding the kissing is a little bit of a lost cause for now, at least while this hideously boring conversation is going on, Dean pulls away slightly, leaning back against the pillows.

 

“Actually,” Dean says, his brow furrowing as he conjures up Sam’s words, “I could’ve sworn he said he was goin’ with Meg.”

 

“ _Meg Masters?_ ” Castiel repeats, incredulous. “And you’re okay with that?”

 

Dean chuckles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Well, I guess it’s too late now, huh?” He shrugs, ignoring Cas’s look of disbelief. “What’s the worst that could happen, anyway? She could crawl inside him and possess his soul like the Demon-spawn she is, I guess.” Dean shoots Cas a grin. “Most likely, she’ll try it on with him and he’ll reject her. Though, last I heard she was kinda into you.”

 

Dean nuzzles in close then, poking Cas in the ribs, trying to charm him back into the make out session.

 

“Are you sure Meg is the only person Sam is going out with?” Castiel persists, avoiding Dean’s tactics by placing a firm hand against his chest and pushing. Dean sighs defeatedly, leaning away again, and shrugs.

 

It’s too damn early for this. Why the heck is Cas so interested in what Sam’s doing? Even worse, he seems to be _more_ interested in Sam’s daily routine than making out with his hot, naked boyfriend.

 

“I dunno,” Dean replies a little tetchily, “he might’ve mentioned there’d be others. What’s it matter? Can we make out some more please? I gotta get up soon.”

 

“Dean, I know you think I’m overreacting,” Cas starts gently, clearly not wanting to rock the boat, and Dean suppresses a groan of frustration, “but if Sam is out with the Kappa Sigma’s again don’t you think you should at least be a little concerned- wait, you’re leaving? It’s Saturday.”

 

Dean’s responding sigh is long, loud and honestly kind of dickish. Cas actually averts his eyes, a frown twisting his lips. Dean feels a little bad about it, sure, but honestly Cas is starting to piss him off with his nagging.

 

He’s told Cas twice now – Sam’s a big boy, he can handle himself. And even if he can’t, it’s just not up to Cas to fix it. Dean won’t be made into the asshole again for heaping that amount of Sammy-sized responsibility onto him. Seriously, the guy really needs to just leave it alone.

 

He gets that it’s got to be hard on Cas, because Dean never seems to be home these days what with school and work and football- but, at the end of the day, Dean’s annoying little brother is _Dean’s problem._ Nobody else’s.

 

“I have practice today, just like every day.” Dean says, his voice a little on the cold side because he’s feeling pissed and frustrated from all this talk of Sam and Kappa Sigma.

 

He should get up before he starts being even meaner to Cas; he seems to be getting into the habit of doing that recently, and that’s not on. It’s not Cas’s fault things are so damn stressful right now. Before he can change his mind with errant thoughts of the gorgeous, naked boy beside him, he scoots forwards on the mattress, rucking up the towels as he gets closer to the edge of the bed. A light, careful hand on his back makes him pause.

 

He sighs, a fresh layer of guilt and irritation washing over him. He doesn’t need this right now. “I wish you’d listen to me about Sam, Cas. You don’t need to look over his shoulder to stop him gettin’ into trouble.”

 

“Dean, the only reason I’m saying anything is because I’m really starting to get concerned-”

 

“Cas!” Dean cuts him off, his voice raising before he can stop it, a little sharper than he means it to come out. He turns to look the kid in the face and nearly groans at the needless concern brimming in his expression. For Christ’s sake, this has got to stop. “Enough, alright? If it comes to it, then I’ll damn well handle it. Until then, leave it alone!” He rises to his feet, a little worked up now. He’s sore too, just to top everything off – in awkward places, and isn’t that just fucking fantastic preparation for a day of strenuous physical exercise. “I’ve got people tellin’ me what to do everywhere I turn – Crowley, Bobby, even fuckin’ John ringing me every two minutes tellin’ me to send Sammy home cause I’ll end up killin’ him. I know you think you’re tryin’a help Cas, but I don’t need anyone else bitchin’ at me, tellin’ me how to live my goddamn life- especially not you!”

 

Cas seems a little taken aback by the sudden outburst, which isn’t surprising really, Dean supposes, considering that five minutes ago they were curled up in each other’s arms. Dean can’t stop the anger flooding through him now though, it’s too late. He should just get ready and leave before he says something he regrets. He turns away from Cas’s owlish, blinking eyes to his chest of drawers, scowling as he rummages through them.

 

“’Especially not me’?” Cas repeats to Dean’s back, making it a question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Oh, come on, you know what I meant.” Dean grunts, rolling his eyes as he pulls out underwear, a t-shirt and some loose-fitting pants. Being naked is not helping this situation.

 

“No, I don’t. Please explain.” Cas snaps, grabbing his own underwear from in the folds of the towels.

 

It’s the sarky tone that gets him. Dean means to leave this alone now, to get dressed and go without worsening the situation, but that bratty, condescending tone of voice just burrows under his skin, making it impossible not to retort. Maybe the way Cas said it reminds Dean of Sam, maybe it’s his big brotherly instincts kicking in, all he knows is that he sees red, and knows from that second that things are about to get ugly.

 

He slams the drawer shut, whirling round to face Cas.

 

“Well, for starters you’re practically Sam’s age anyway.” Dean spits out, pulling on his clothes; Cas’s mouth falls open a little way; Dean tries to ignore the hurt look in his little doe eyes. “But aside from that? You’re- you’re my boyfriend, Cas, not my friggin’ life coach!” Dean chokes out a harsh sounding laugh. “Maybe you experimented a little with orderin’ me about last night,” a dark look settles over Cas’s features, “but that doesn’t mean you can boss me around every goddamn minute of the day! He’s _my_ little brother, Cas.”

 

Cas shakes his head slowly, a look of disgust on his features. “I can’t believe you’d even _think_ that’s remotely what I am trying to-”

 

“I mean,” Dean interrupts loudly, yanking his shirt over his head, “can we just be real for a second?” Cas pauses, looking confused. “It doesn’t matter how many folks lend me their wise words – I’m always gonna be a fuck-up, right?” Wow, Dean thinks as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Where the heck did that come from? “Just like Dad used to say, the only future ahead o’me is standin’ in the way of everyone else’s.”

 

Dean sits heavily down on the edge of the bed, pulling his sneakers towards him, purposefully not looking towards Cas because he can’t bear to see any sort of pity on his face. God, he’s pathetic. He needs to leave this room. But his mouth keeps spewing out words.

 

“I’m not gonna get drafted, I’m not gonna live happily ever after in a fancy house or get to grow old with you or get anything at all that I want.” Dean shoves his feet into the shoes, tying them quickly, hurriedly, tucking the laces in and hardly bothering with them. “I accepted it a long time ago - that shit’s not gonna happen for me. So instead, I’m gonna make it happen for Sam.”

 

It’s only when Cas makes a choked off little noise that Dean finally looks up at him. There are honest-to-God tears in the kid’s eyes. Dean has to look away.

 

“Dean, you can’t really believe that.” Castiel says quietly, sounding horrified.

 

Why did he say anything at all? Now Cas is never going to be able to unhear it, he’ll always see Dean through a haze of self-pity and deprecation. He’ll never view Dean as the charismatic, confident guy he’s shaped himself into at this place. God, why did he have to say anything at all?

 

“Just…” Dean bats at the air with his hand, wondering if whether he focuses hard enough he can rewind time. Just a few minutes, back to when Cas’s lips were on his and nothing else mattered. “Just forget it.”

 

There’s a long silence, and Dean begs Cas silently to just let it go, to brush it aside as though it never happened. But of course, this is Cas, the guy who’s so unconditionally, head over heels in love with him that it frightens Dean. Of course he’s not going to let this go.

 

“Dean, you’re the most talented sports player this college has ever seen.” Cas says, his voice tentative but also sort of astonished. “Surely you can see that… you must know that’s true.” The corner of Dean’s mouth lifts up into a tired smile but he still doesn’t look at Cas. Bless his heart, he might actually believe Dean can make it. “You’re going through a tough time right now, but you’ve got people who want to support you, me and Bobby and Sam, we’re all here to help you through it – you’re going to make it Dean, you can’t give up hope.”

 

Dean sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. Poor kid. He so didn’t sign up for this shit. He’s way too young to be dealing with the crapfest that’s storming away in Dean’s mind. Plastering on a sad smile, he turns to meet Cas’s eyes.

 

“I never had any hope, Cas.” Dean admits, and something heartbreaking bursts behind Cas’s eyes. God, he needs to stop talking. “I left home to show Sam that it’s possible and to make a start for him up here. I’ve saved up some money for him for next year, told the guys in the Frat to look out for him… he’s the reason I’m still here.” Dean gets to his feet, feeling vulnerable and loathing it. “If I told Bobby I didn’t think I was gonna be the star quarterback he tells me I’m gonna be, it’d break his damn heart. I can’t do that to him, he’s like a father to me. But honestly, if it wasn’t for that I’d quit now. I’d work at the garage full time, get my foot in the door there, make some serious money to get Sammy on his feet next year.”

 

Cas isn’t looking at Dean anymore, he’s got his gaze fixed at a point across the room, swallowing repeatedly. When he speaks, his voice is so quiet it’s practically a whisper. “You can’t treat yourself like this. You’re not being fair.”

 

“Life isn’t fair, Cas.”

 

“That’s such bullshit.” Castiel spits, sounding angry now, fixing Dean with a glare. “You’re wasting your talent, your intelligence – everything! Do you think it’s chance that you ended up the most popular guy in the whole University? Don’t you get that thousands would sell their souls to have an inch of the skill, the power you have right now?”

 

“No, I-” Dean starts to say.

 

He doesn’t think it’s chance. He thinks it’s the combination of being blessed with good looks, charisma and a cocky attitude, plus a determination to climb high enough so that Sam will finally have a safe place to call home when he moves out.

 

But Cas cuts him off before he can say any of this. “And where do I fit in in this bleak future you’ve decided for yourself?” Cas’s eyes are shining with tears now; it makes Dean’s heart ache. Fuck, this is not how he pictured his morning. “I’m not there, I guess. What happens then, oh mighty prophet? Do you ditch me before or after you graduate? Should I be preparing myself? Is it gonna happen in the next few weeks? Days? Heck, why don’t you just do it now?! Save yourself some time!”

 

“Fuckin’ Hell, Cas,” Dean says, reaching towards him, but Cas recoils, springing towards the edge of the bed and getting out of it. “You know that’s not what I-”

 

“I need some time alone.” Castiel says coldly, cutting him off. “Go to practice. Pretend to listen to Bobby and try not to let him ‘boss you around’ too much.”

 

“Cas-” Dean says, standing up too and trying to catch hold of him as he darts around the room collecting his clothes.

 

“I’m having a shower.” Castiel tells him, opening the door, not seeming to care he’s only in his underwear. “Goodbye, Dean.”

 

The door slams.

 

Well, fuck.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean has already left when Castiel emerges from the shower. It’s just as well. Castiel really has no idea what he would even say to Dean right now. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to yell at him when he’s clearly the victim of his own terrible self-esteem issues, but honestly Cas doesn’t even care. He feels numb.

 

How have things turned so impossibly sour in such a short space of time? Just last night he and Dean were closer than they’ve ever been, breaking boundaries in their relationship, becoming more intimate than ever. And now it’s ruined.

 

Why does this keep happening recently? Surely it can’t be normal to be having this many problems just a few months down the line. On paper, he and Dean seem so right for each other. It’s not fair.

 

Castiel is on the stairs, treading carefully as he carries a bundle of oil soaked towels downstairs to wash. He freezes when he hears footsteps coming towards him from the bottom of the staircase, his thoughts racing, wondering how he can explain his actions without going into horrifying details of his and Dean's sex-life - and then the figure pokes his head around the pile of towels, coming into Castiel's view. It's Gabriel.

 

“Cassy! And how was your evening of hardcore penetration?” Gabe asks him, changing direction on the spot in order to walk downstairs with Cas towards the utility room. “Pleasurable, I trust?”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes, ignoring Gabriel for a few moments before entering the utility room and dumping the bundle of towels down in front of the machine. “Don’t you have someone else to pester?”

 

Gabriel’s eyebrows shoot up, but he looks undeterred. He hops up on the washing machine, perched on the edge, eyes glinting. He’s smelled gossip and he knows it.

 

“What’s crawled up your ass?” He asks. “Well, aside from Dean.”

 

Cas just glares at him, shoving his legs out of the way as he yanks the machine door open. “Nothing.”

 

“Uh huh.” Gabriel says, clearly sceptical. “Look, Cassy, I know I’m in trouble right now, but you can still talk to me y’know.” Castiel says nothing, just squaring his jaw as he pushes the towels into the drum. “Think of it this way… I might be the only person in the whole _college_ more likely to be on your side than Dean-o’s.”

 

Castiel sighs, straightening up as he reaches for the fabric softener. “Dean and I had an argument, alright? Now will you drop it? I’d rather not think about it much longer.”

 

“What was the spat about?” Gabriel asks, not missing a beat.

 

Castiel sighs again, pouring the salts in and setting the wash on for an hour. “I… I don’t even know.” He admits, face falling as he remembers the words exchanged. “Football, Dean’s future, Sam…”

 

“Woah, Sam?” Gabriel asks, and Castiel rolls his eyes.

 

“Of course you focus on that part.” He says, turning to walk out of the room. Gabriel jumps off the washing machine just as it begins to shake, hot on his heels.

 

“What’s the little minx done now?” Gabriel asks, not bothering to conceal the intrigue in his voice.

 

Castiel meanders into the kitchen, not really focused on a destination. He thinks about not divulging every aspect of what’s going on to Gabriel, especially considering his recent behaviour, but then again – Gabe has reason to be kind and helpful to Cas right now, what with all the pranks still waiting to be discovered.

 

Castiel’s shoulders slump, wearily. “He’s hanging out with the Kappa Sigma’s.”

 

Gabe’s eyes widen almost comically. “What?! That traitorous bitch!” Gabe slaps a hand over his heart dramatically, falling back against the kitchen counter. “As if I’m not enough for him!”

 

A hint of a smile plays on Cas’s lips. “Apparently they give him beer, cigarettes and ‘help him get girls’.”

 

Gabriel scoffs, looking outraged. “I could top that! Hard drugs, bong hits and sex on tap with the hottest guy on campus.” Castiel’s brows furrow, confused. Gabriel rolls his eyes and gestures at himself. “ _Me_ , duh.”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes, but laughs. “I don’t know what to do about it. Dean has essentially forbidden me from interfering, but I’m afraid he’s deluded himself into thinking this is a smaller issue than it is.” Castiel turns around, reaching into one of the cupboards overhead for two mugs and the pot of instant coffee. “Kappa Sigma are… evil.”

 

Gabriel barks a laugh. “A tad theatrical perhaps, but yeah, they’re dicks.” Gabe pulls open a drawer by his side and grabs a teaspoon, then reaches for the pot of sugar, sliding it towards Cas and winking. “Man, I wonder what their play is.”

 

“Who?” Castiel asks, filling up the kettle.

 

“The Kappa Sigma’s.” Gabriel replies, as if it were obvious. “One would think they’d be focusing on their Spring Rush next week instead of dicking around with young hooligans barely old enough to spit out their ABC’s.”

 

“Sam is seventeen, Gabe.”

 

“Mmm, and don’t I know it.” Gabe replies, grinning disgustingly. He winks, making Castiel groan at him.

 

“What’s that thing you said? The Spring Rush?” Castiel asks, mainly to divert Gabriel off the current path of conversation.

 

Gabriel picks up the teaspoon tiredly, scooping up some coffee granules from the pot and depositing them in each of the mugs Castiel has laid out. “It’s just another chance for an idiotic, suicidal load of Freshmen to jump on to the Fraternity bandwagon.” He explains, and Castiel nods, reaching for the kettle as it starts to steam. “Halfway through the year, each Frat hosts another week or so of events where Freshmen can ‘rush’ them. Then there’s the usual process of the existing Frat members weeding out which ones they want or don’t want – the lucky few chosen get to come live at the Frat house and be a Pledge.”

 

“So Psi Delta Alpha will have a Spring Rush too?” Castiel asks, genuinely curious now as he pours boiling water into their mugs.

 

“Yeah, of course, although Dean’s been pretty lax about it this year – it’s mostly fallen to me to arrange everything and…” Gabriel chuckles, shrugging. “I’ve kinda been putting it off.”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes. Typical.

 

This is very strange news though. Castiel hadn’t even realised this was going on. So a whole load of new Pledges will be joining the Fraternity in a little while? And Kappa Sigma will get a whole new load too. That just makes their goings-on with Sam even more suspicious. At least Castiel can be safe in the knowledge that Sam couldn’t pledge Kappa Sigma next week even if he wanted to. He’s not a student, after all.

 

“So, you think you and jock-strap will be okay?” Gabriel asks him, shifting Cas out of his thoughts. Castiel glances over at his brother, noting with mild disgust the amount of sugar he’s ladling into his coffee.

 

“I hope so.” Castiel says despondently, picking up his own mug.

 

At that moment, the simultaneous noise of a foghorn and a chiming bell sound blurt through the air, making them both jump. They both reach for their phones without a word.

 

Castiel’s shoulders slump when he reads the text, though his heart lifted for a moment out of habit when he first saw the name.

 

**Dean Winchester (!)**

Sammy, Cas and Gabe – be  
at the Roadhouse at 7. We need  
some bonding time.

 

“Speak o’the devil.” Gabe mutters, confirming Castiel’s thought. “Bonding time, huh? Oh, this ought’a be good.”

 

Castiel resigns himself to another night of probable heartache, misunderstanding and despair, picks up his coffee, and leaves the room.

 

* * *

 

 

Cas and Gabe arrive at the Roadhouse together, which Castiel is extremely grateful about, even if he doesn’t dare admit as much to Gabriel. His brother seems to be intent on being suspiciously nice to him recently, almost definitely because of the stunt Castiel pulled a couple of days prior, plus the fact Castiel is the only person (that Gabriel knows the identity of) who knows exactly what Gabriel has in store for the next few months prank-wise.

 

It was actually Gabe who suggested they go together, and it’s just as well, because Dean is already seated at the table when they arrive, alone. As soon as he sees Dean there, Cas wants to turn tail and leave. He has no idea what to say to the guy after their argument this morning. He’d basically accused Dean of wanting to break up with him, of throwing his life away, amongst other things.

 

What the Hell does someone say after those words have come out?

 

Gabriel has to actually drag him over to the booth by the wrist. He seems totally unaffected of course, even a little eager to ‘light this candle’ as he’d said earlier. He does love a good old-fashioned family squabble, Castiel knows this far too well. He always has.

 

Castiel steadfastly makes for the seat opposite Dean, determined not to let being pressed up against the guy muddle his mind at all as it usually does. He needs to keep a clear head right now, because he and Dean are having some serious issues and they need to be resolved or... well, it's best not to think along those lines.

 

Gabriel slides in next to Cas, just as the younger boy remembers exactly how long Dean’s legs are, and that he’s now surrendered himself to an evening of forced footsie, his knees pressed against Dean’s under the table. Fantastic.

 

“Good evening, Mr Alpha.” Gabriel booms, in his loud obnoxious voice, filling the tense, awkward, post-argument atmosphere beautifully. “How are we this evening?”

 

Dean sighs. Castiel can feel Dean’s stare on him, but he refuses to look up, instead focusing on his hands, pressed on the wood of the table.

 

“Hey, Gabe.” Dean says eventually, and then, quieter, “hey, Cas.”

 

Castiel mumbles something even he doesn’t catch in response, and then it’s back to that awkward, stunted quiet that seems to weigh heavily on everyone’s shoulders.

 

“So, Dean-o,” Gabriel says brightly, his arm stretching across the back of the bench as he sprawls out, getting comfy, “have fun screwing my little brother last night?”

 

Cas’s eyes do flick up to Dean then, wide and scared, worried that will have hit a nerve. Fuck, why does Gabriel have to be so offensive? And why does he have to be talking about last night, of all nights? Any other time, Dean might have laughed it off, or said something crude enough to make Gabriel squirm in return, but now he just looks furious, his wounded ego flaring up full force as he jabs a finger in Gabriel’s face-

 

“Hey guys!” A voice says breathlessly from their side. They all whip their heads round to face whoever it is, and see Sam standing there, his arm around a tall, pretty blonde that Sam recognises as Jess from the party. “Sorry I’m late. Got a little caught up.”

 

Dean stares at Sam, open mouthed, his finger still adrift in the air. Sam slides in beside Dean, pulling a giggly Jess down beside him. They have to practically squash Dean into a corner to fit.

 

Dean just blinks, unable to process what is happening apparently. Jess pokes her head around Sam to wave at him, and he waves back slowly, confusedly.

 

“Hey, Dean!” She chirps, bright and happy – totally oblivious to the intricate and strained dynamics of the other people crammed in this small booth. She turns her head to face everyone else, smiling at them brightly. “Hey, Castiel – am I saying that right? Hey, Gabe! Hope you don’t mind me tagging along with Sam. He said it was cool.”

 

“Not _at all,_ my lovely lady.” Gabriel replies, grinning at her, and she giggles.

 

“Uh, n-no, I guess that’s, uh…” Dean says, trailing off. He looks down at Sam, clearly trying to understand how he conjured up this angel.

 

“You don’t mind, do you Dean?” Sam asks, his eyes suddenly round as saucers as he stares up at his brother. Castiel narrows his eyes at this clear manipulation tactic. Dean immediately starts backing down, leaning back in his seat, relenting at once. “I just wanted her here for… moral support.”

 

Jess’s hand grabs hold of Sam’s and squeezes. Castiel stares at it dumbly, as does Dean. Gabriel wolf-whistles, and Jess laughs at him, blushing. “I’m right here, Sam. Say what you want to say.”

 

“Wait, what?” Dean asks, suddenly catching up. His shoulders tense and Castiel stares at the motion wistfully. All his hard work last night… going to waste. “What’s she talkin’ about?”

 

Sam sighs. “Can we order first? I could kill for a beer.”

 

Dean splutters. “No, we _cannot._ Can I just remind you and your new girlfriend here that you’re _underage_ , Sam.”

 

“Dean!” Sam whines, flushing a little as Jess giggles. “God, will you stop embarrassing me? You know as well as I do they serve minors in here – you only just turned twenty-one.”

 

Castiel transports his mind back to that wonderful day back in January – Dean’s birthday. A much, much happier moment than this one, that’s for damn sure. There had been a huge party, of course. Practically everyone in the college had attended, knowing what an awesome time would be had - Dean is the most popular guy in school after all. There'd been fireworks, strippers (that had set Cas’s teeth on edge a bit, but still), two-foot-tall, sparkling cocktails, heck even a ride-on bull – but every inch of Dean’s attention was focused on Cas, from start to finish.

 

Sure, they’d both enjoyed the party into the wee hours, getting hopelessly drunk, laughing and joking with the guests, but Dean hadn’t let Castiel stray from his side for a second. Every few minutes he’d have something filthier to whisper into Cas’s ear, his words getting sloppier and less inhibited as the alcohol seeped into his blood. Pretty soon it was somehow 3am and Castiel was so hard it was a constant, agonising pain- so Dean took one look at him and hauled him upstairs, shoved him against a wall in his bedroom and… well, he thinks with a slight smile.

 

He remembers the rest.

 

When he reorients himself back to the present, Sam and Dean are still bickering, Gabriel is still grinning at the situation lazily, and Jess is still holding Sam’s hand.

 

“Just spit it out, Sam!” Dean practically yells. “Say what you gotta say!”

 

“Fine!” Sam retorts, glaring at Dean, a petulance in his expression that gives Cas a seriously bad feeling. “I just knew you’d freak out, so I wanted to get a couple of beers in first but if you must know…” Castiel holds his breath. He can practically feel Gabriel shaking with excitement beside him. “I’m not pledging Psi Delta Alpha next year, alright? I’m gonna pledge Kappa Sigma.”

 

Cas’s mouth falls open. Oh, holy shit.

 

It may be his imagination, but everything seems to go very quiet. Cas thinks he can hear every clink of cutlery against china, every slurp of drink past someone’s lips, every inhale and exhale, every scribble of a pen on a check.

 

And then Dean explodes. “WHAT?!” Sam’s eyes fall closed, exasperated, as if he expected this. “Sam, what are you a fuckin’ _lunatic_?!”

 

Sam opens his eyes, glaring. “No.”

 

“Dean, I think you’ll find that if you listen to him-” Jess starts to say, but Dean snarls at her.

 

“Stay outta this.” Dean growls at Jess, and Sam glares even harder in his direction. “Sam, you have _no idea_ what you’re talkin’ about, those guys are-”

 

“Um, _fun_ , _nice to me_ , _more than happy to talk to me about anything_?” Sam finishes for Dean, and Castiel winces. “Not to mention that they’re actually _there,_ unlike you who never seems to actually step foot in the Frat house except to screw your boyfriend-”

 

“Hey!” Cas cuts in, cheeks flaming. He’s getting sick of everyone throwing his name around like it doesn’t matter, like he’s worthless. “That’s not fair, Sam.”

 

Sam scowls at him, folding his arms defiantly. It does nothing to diminish his bratty demeanour.

 

“Whew! Things are hotting up in here!” Gabriel cries, and everyone at the table apart from Jess turns to glare at him as he fans himself dramatically. Gabriel grins back at everyone, undeterred, then turns his head and whistles, signalling for a waitress. “Excuse me, can we get some ice over here? Possibly with some hard liquor?”

 

“Can it, Gabriel.” Dean grunts, breathing in through his nose. “Alright, everybody just calm down. Let’s just sort this out right now. Sam, you are not pledging anybody except Psi Delta Alpha next year, end of story.”

 

Sam snorts loudly. “As if. Why would I even wanna be part of that Frat, Dean? It’s _boring._ All you guys ever do is laze around the house, play video games, go to class and have pancakes once in a while. I wanna have _fun._ ”

 

Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He can practically feel his own brother’s hairs starting to raise upon hearing Sam dissing the ‘brotherhood’.

 

“We do have fun!” Dean cries, affronted. “Christ, Sammy, what do you take me for? The whole damn reason they even elected me president was cause I was the best party planner they know!”

 

“Well, I’ve seen zero evidence of that.” Sam replies, shrugging with indifference. “Hell, you haven’t even been _there._ The only party I’ve been to was thrown by Theta Phi, and every other night you’ve either been working or wanna watch a crappy movie.”

 

“Hey!” Gabriel butts in, faux-affronted. “Bad Neighbours is a comedic masterpiece!”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes, nudging Gabriel in the side to shut him up. Dean looks on the verge of losing it. He shakes his head, fists clenching and unclenching on the table.

 

“God fucking damn it.” He mutters under his breath. “God _fucking damn it._ Cas, you were supposed to be hangin’ out with him! Makin’ sure he had a good time, what happened to that?!”

 

Castiel stares at Dean in disbelief, mouth falling open. “A-are you joking?”

 

Dean slams his hand down on the table. “No! I asked you to keep him entertained! Now he’s tellin’ me he’s so bored he has to hang out with the _Kappa’s_ to get his kicks? Are _you_ joking?!”

 

“I… cannot believe you are blaming me for this.” Castiel says slowly, the words filtering out far more calmly than the spitting, hissing fires raging inside him. “After everything I said to you about Sam and the Kappa Sigma’s.”

 

Apparently, Sam agrees with Cas to an extent, or at least wants to shift the focus back onto himself, because he jumps in then. “Dean, I didn’t go find the Kappa Sigma’s because Cas failed to keep me entertained on his own.” Dean’s face turns to his brother, eyes hard, jaw firm. “I did it because it was _boring_ at your Frat house, because Psi Delta Alpha is _boring,_ because you guys never friggin’ _do anything_ and the Kappa Sigma guys are hanging out, getting drunk, having fun together every night.”

 

“Sammy,” Dean starts out, his voice calm at first, though Cas can immediately tell this will soon change, “I’ve been busy recently, sure, but that does not mean my Frat is boring. I haven’t had time to throw parties or get the guys together – but that’s just life. There’s a reason we’re the hottest Frat on campus, y’know.”

 

Sam rolls his eyes, exchanging a ‘look’ with Jess. “Yeah, well, Alaistair says that’s about to change.”

 

Dean barks a laugh at that. Nobody joins in. “Of course he’s gonna say that, he’s our rival. It’s bullshit, no one can beat us, we’re too awesome.”

 

Sam looks at Dean, a small smile on his face. “Alaistair says wait till Spring Rush. Then double check the figures.”

 

Dean shakes his head, chuckling forcedly. “That dipshit really thinks he’s gonna get more Pledges than us? I almost feel sorry for him. Wait till he sees the awesome parties and events Gabe’s planned for next week.” Dean turns to Gabe, smiling confidently. “Tell ‘em what you got, Gabe.”

 

Gabriel sits up a little then, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Um, about that Dean-o…” Castiel watches with a modicum of satisfaction as Dean’s smile begins to slip off his face. He’s still mad, okay? Dean cannot expect to lumber the blame onto Castiel _again_ and get away with it. “See, what with killing all the moths and finding all the Rick Astley speakers and peeling Cas’s heads out of my Busty Asian Beauties mags… I kinda haven’t found the time.”

 

Dean’s face grows just this side of murderous. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about? Moths?! You’re tellin’ me… we have _nothing_ planned?!”

 

Gabriel shrugs, grinning half-heartedly. “I’ll get on it ASAP.”

 

“Fuck! Well, that’s fantastic. Just what I needed.” Dean near-yells, catching the attention of several people at nearby tables, all of whom look over in alarm.

 

“See, Dean, Kappa Sigma are planning-”

 

“Shut it!” Dean yells, cutting Sam off. “I don’t wanna hear it, Sam! I did not crawl my ass up all the way from the bottom of this Fraternity and make it my bitch just so you could run off and pledge my freakin’ goddamn enemy!”

 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Stop being so dramatic.”

 

Dean grabs hold of Sam by the shoulders, making him squirm. Castiel looks on uncomfortably, not sure who he should be helping.

 

“You think this is dramatic, Samantha?” Dean hisses. “You think I’m exaggerating when I say that Alaistair and Balthazar and fuckin’ Bartholomew and everyone else over there are _only_ even _talkin’_ to you because they hate my fucking guts?”

 

Sam glares back, giving up trying to struggle away from Dean. Jess is looking mighty uncomfortable by now, shooting glances towards the exit with increasing frequency.

 

“That’s not true.” Sam spits. “They like me. They want me as a Pledge next year.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure they do.” Dean agrees, nodding. “If your worst enemy’s innocent baby brother walked right into your open hand, wouldn’t you crush him just to see your enemy squirm?” Dean pauses, letting the words sink in. “You know what bein’ a Pledge is like, Sammy? Cause I do. I had to do it for a whole fuckin’ year. A year of torture, of coercion and bein’ kicked around, treated like dog shit, like worse! But bein’ a Pledge at Kappa Sigma when you’re the little brother of their rival?” Dean sucks in a breath and leans away from Sam at last, shaking his head. “That’s Hell, Sammy. Pure Hell.”

 

Sam is quiet for a moment, clearly thinking about everything Dean has just said, running it over in that stubborn teenage brain of his. Castiel can practically see the cogs turning. They all wait with baited breath.

 

Sam sticks out his chin, looking defiant. “I’d be a Pledge either way, right? I might as well be a Pledge for a Frat I actually _choose_ to be a part of _._ ”

 

Dean opens his mouth, ready to yell again, but before any words can escape, Sam is gesturing for Jess to move, then sliding out of the booth and stalking away, his hand still in Jess’s, dragging her along behind him.

 

“Sam!” Dean calls after him, trying to scramble out of the booth behind him, but his legs tangle with Cas’s. “SAM!”

 

Castiel watches as Sam and Jess walk out of the Roadhouse, pushing through the double doors and striding out into the cold night air. That’s when Dean rounds on him, instead.

 

“How could you let this happen?!” Dean asks Cas, his voice way too loud for this tiny booth with just three occupants. “Sam is gonna ruin his _life_ with this shit! How could you not have stopped this!? Surely you must have seen it happening!”

 

Castiel jumps to his feet, his face flaring scarlet at once, and he resists the urge to hit Dean. Just.

 

“Fuck you.” He spits instead, and then clambers over Gabriel, tripping slightly, steadied by his brother’s hands, and then stalks out of the restaurant, after Sam and Jess, not even bothering to look back.

 

* * *

 

 

Stupid, blind, ignorant Dean, Castiel thinks bitterly, his footsteps falling heavy and loud as he stalks down the road, fists clenched, nothing in his mind except white hot fury.

 

Blaming Cas, again, for something so completely out of his control, as if Cas doesn’t have a thousand other things to worry or think about day to day other than Dean’s shitshow of a fucked up family – and does Dean ever, _ever_ ask about what’s going on in _his_ life?! Of course not! Because Dean is the centre of everything, the entire Frat revolves around him, heck, the entire college, maybe even the entire _world._

And Cas is just another pathetic, puny planet sucked in by the ferocious force of the Winchester gravitational pull, battered around by the atmosphere, beaten senseless by the crippling _weight_ of everything Dean piles on to him until he’s a shell of his former self.

 

“UGH!” Castiel groans loudly, kicking a nearby rock far off into the distance, successfully imagining it’s Dean’s head.

 

How many times did Castiel try to warn Dean about Sam’s actions? How many times did he press the issue - knowing full well Dean would flip out - just because he was certain Sam was in serious trouble? He fucking _knew_ something disastrous would happen. He’s slightly annoyed at himself for not figuring out what-

 

No. Castiel stops the thought in it’s tracks. It’s not his fucking job to figure out Sam’s next move, or to look out for Sam, or to be Dean’s snitch.

 

He’s caught up with the rock he kicked before now, and aims for it again, harder this time. It bounces and skids across the pavement up ahead, ricocheting off something Cas can’t quite make out in the distance.

 

He half wishes he'd stuck it out and stayed at the Roadhouse to yell at Dean, to put him in his place instead of just walking out, but he knows he never would have managed to get a word in edgeways. Dean just loves to cut him off nowadays. His arguments are always far more worth hearing, apparently.

 

Hopefully Gabriel will give Dean a piece of his mind. He and Cas are supposed to be brothers after all. And not shitty, meaningless Frat ‘brothers’ like Gabe and Dean are – _real_ brothers. Their blood flows in each other’s veins.

 

All of a sudden, there’s a quiet clatter in the distance, and Cas freezes, stopping in his tracks. He peers up ahead of himself, squinting into the darkness.

 

For the first time since leaving the Roadhouse, he realises he doesn’t actually know where he is. He peers around himself at the unfamiliar, deserted road, swathed in darkness, nothing remarkable about it whatsoever. There’s pavement either side, and a streetlight far in the distance. Hedges grow to Cas’s right, creating eerie, claw-like shadows on the concrete.

 

Crap, Cas thinks, heart picking up speed as the clattering sounds again, still faint, but definitely distinct enough that Cas isn’t imagining it. How has he managed to get himself lost? Granted, the only thought he gave to his direction when he left the Roadhouse was that he didn’t want to return to the Psi Delta Alpha Frat house, but apart from that…

 

He takes a step backward, trying to mentally track his own route. Where had he gone wrong? Maybe if he retraces his steps…

 

The clattering makes itself known again, louder this time, and suddenly something flies out of the darkness up ahead, aimed straight at Cas, skidding along the ground.

 

Cas tenses, jumping out of its path. The thing skitters to a halt a few feet away. It’s the rock. The one Cas had been kicking.

 

His heart skips a beat. He looks up again, trying desperately to make anything out in the gloom, but failing. Oh God, how could he be so stupid? He’s not even wearing his coat, he left it behind at the Roadhouse. And now he’s going to be the next victim of one of those campus attacks he’s always reading about. Maybe he’ll be mugged, or beaten, or worse.

 

He swallows, his throat suddenly very dry.

 

“Wh-who’s there?” He calls, trying to sound brave, meaning his voice to be lower than it comes out.

 

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence, and Castiel just waits, eyes fixed on the spot where the rock was kicked back at him.

 

Then there are footsteps. Slow, careful, unhurried. They sound like Castiel’s impending doom. The blood roars in his ears. He shivers.

 

Despite everything, Castiel finds himself praying that Dean were here with him, because then he’d have no reason to feel afraid. Sure, the guy’s an absolute asshole, but he’d die to protect Cas, no doubt about it. If there’s one word to describe Dean Winchester, it’s loyal.

 

Eventually, a figure emerges from the darkness, bathed in shadow, moving slowly towards him. Castiel thinks about positioning himself into a fighting stance, but what would be the point? He couldn’t fight off a fruit fly.

 

The figure edges closer, and all Cas can think about is how if he dies now, his last words to Dean will have been ‘fuck you’. When was the last time he even told Dean he loved him? Fuck, Castiel didn’t even say it after Dean poured all that stuff out about giving up hope on himself, sacrificing his life because he’s worthless.

 

All of a sudden, Castiel wants to cry.

 

“Winchester should know not to let you roam the streets at night unprotected.”

 

The voice is instantly repulsive, turning Cas’s stomach. He has no doubt as to who it belongs to.

 

At that moment, the figure steps close enough that Castiel can just make out his features. “Bartholomew.”

 

Bart grins at him, wiggling his fingers. “In the flesh.”

 

The fear seizing hold of Cas’s heart hasn’t subsided for a moment. The knowledge that it’s Bart in front of him as opposed to a stranger does nothing to calm him. This is the boy who has threatened him, molested him, stalked him and assaulted him multiple times.

 

If Castiel wasn’t scared, he’d be an idiot. He wonders if he could run away, but one quick glance over Bart’s athletic body tells him he’d never outrun this guy.

 

And he has no idea where he is, or how to get back to civilisation.

 

The only thing he can do is try to reason it out with him, maybe scare him with threats of what Dean will do to him if he tries anything. Castiel tries to ignore the burning fear in his mind that tells him this plan is almost certainly doomed.

 

After all, Dean isn’t here.

 

“Wh-what do you want?” Castiel forces himself to ask, his hands clenched into fists by his side. He stands up straight, chin out, trying to look as dominant as possible.

 

Bart grins at him again, sickly and leering, then starts to pace. He walks in a slow circle around Cas, eyeing him appreciatively, clicking his tongue. Castiel forces himself to stay still, feet planted firmly on the ground.

 

“You know what I want.” Bart replies, his voice like slime, oozing into Cas’s ears. Castiel feels a hand brush over his lower back and flinches, turning to face him. “Kinda jumpy, aren’t you?” Bart comments, still smirking at him. “For a whore.”

 

“I’m not a whore.” Castiel says, because he can’t stop himself protesting.

 

He hates that he might have this reputation. It makes him feel dirty, filthy even. All he ever wanted was Dean – who cares what they do by themselves? It’s nobody else’s business.

 

“That’s not what I’ve heard.” Bart replies smoothly, and before Cas can dodge him, Bart’s hand snakes around his waist, pulls him in until they’re pressed together.

 

“Let me go.” Castiel growls fiercely, hands clawing at the strong arm wrapped around him. “I mean it. If Dean finds out-”

 

“Aw, honey,” Bart interrupts, carding a hand through Cas’s hair, even as Cas tries to shake him free, “is that what you’re so worried about? Dean’s not gonna find out. An’ if he does… I’ll take him on. He thinks he’s all that, but honestly I’ve been dyin’ to test him man to man. Hand to hand combat, proper old school.”

 

“He’d obliterate you.” Castiel spits, still struggling wildly.

 

Bart’s grip is frighteningly strong; Cas is starting to become desperate. He thinks about calling for help, but he knows before the thought can properly form that nobody would hear him. Cas hasn't seen another soul apart from Bart in over an hour. 

 

Bart is silent for a few moments then, just watching as Cas writhes against his hold, near tears. After a few seconds, his grip loosens, and Castiel almost falls over with the shock of it. He tries to run, immediately, but Bart keeps hold of his arm, stopping him.

 

“Please, Bart, just…” Castiel starts to say, hating himself for having to beg, but what choice does he have? “Please, let me go, you haven’t done anything yet, it’ll be like it never happened. Please, I just want to go home.”

 

“Back to Dean?” Bart asks, eyes narrowing.

 

Castiel’s gaze falls to the floor. Is that what he wants? Yes, probably. Half an hour ago he would have probably rather licked Gabriel’s bare foot, but now… all he wants is to run back into Dean’s arms, let himself be reminded of how lucky he is to have someone that loves him and protects him, treats him well… mostly.

 

“Yes.” Castiel replies finally, smiling very slightly.

 

He looks back up at Bartholomew, wondering if the guy’s conscience is finally breaking through his dickish exterior. Immediately upon seeing the venom in Bart’s eyes, Castiel knows this is not the case. Bart grabs hold of Cas’s other arm and hauls him forwards until their faces are horrifyingly close; Castiel is unable to look anywhere but straight into Bart’s frostbitten blue eyes.

 

“I’m so fuckin’ sick of that dickbrain Winchester getting _everything_ that I want!” He yells, and Cas scrunches his eyes shut, trying to hide. “At first I thought you were just playin’ around, acting all hard to get or whatever – but you actually _like_ him, don’t you?!”

 

Castiel doesn’t know what to say, whether he should say anything at all. He peels his eyes open carefully, staying quiet. Bart shakes him violently by the shoulders.

 

“ _Don’t you?!”_ He presses, and Castiel nods, not wanting to anger him further.

 

“God damn it.” Bart hisses, shoving Castiel roughly so that he falls over, hitting the hard concrete ass-first. Castiel doesn’t dare move, just staring up at Bart, fearful. He watches a slow smirk spread across the other boy’s features with dread in his heart. “Well, at least we got little Sammy wrapped around our finger.”

 

Castiel’s heart damn near stops. The blood drains from his face; oh God. This is his and Dean’s worst fear – is Bart admitting that the Kappa Sigma’s have an ulterior motive in their involvement with Sam?

 

“Did you get that?” Bart asks, eyebrows raising as he squats down to be level with Cas. “All it took was a few free beers, bribing some o’the Sorority girls to be _extra_ nice to him and a carefully phrased insult or two about his dear brother. Little Sammy’s all set to pledge us next year, can you believe that? Instead of his own brother’s Fraternity, what a scandal! And just picture Dean’s reaction when he sees the kinda shit we got in store for his baby bro.”

 

Castiel sucks in a breath, eyes growing wide.

 

“No.” He whispers, not really meaning to. Bart’s grin spreads across his face.

 

“I mean, Kappa Sigma are kinda renowned for havin’ some shitty, downright _cruel_ hazing tactics for our Pledges…” Bart says, eyes growing distant, as if remembering. Castiel can only begin to imagine the horrors. “But for Sam Winchester?” Bart’s grin grows even wider somehow, stretching his cheeks almost unnaturally, ear to ear. It reminds Castiel of the evil villains Dean refers to sometimes in his Batman comics. “Oh, we’ll save the _extra special_ torment for him.”

 

Castiel doesn’t know what comes over him. A low, guttural noise rips out of him and he grabs hold of Bart by the collar of his shirt. “You _can’t._ He’s a kid! He’s been through enough, goddamn it-”

 

Bart grabs hold of his wrists, far tighter than when Dean does it, his fingers digging into Cas’s flesh, bound to leave bruises. “Shh, shh.” Bart soothes, smiling like he expected this reaction. “It’s okay, gorgeous. Lucky for you, you’re in a prime negotiating position.”

 

Castiel freezes, bile rising in his throat despite not quite understanding Bart’s words. Negotiating? Him? What on earth does he have to offer?

 

“You just happen to be sitting here with Kappa Sigma’s second in command.” Bart explains, rearranging himself so he’s sitting down properly opposite Cas on the pavement, still clutching his wrists in both hands. “Me and Alaistair, we’re very close. There’s not much I can’t convince him to do for me. I bet if I asked him to lay off Sam Winchester, he would. That’s how tight we are.”

 

Castiel considers this, gulping. Bart could be lying of course. He and Alaistair could be mortal foes, heck, Bart might not even really be the second in command, how would Cas ever know for sure? But this is truly all he’s got. Sam is too stubborn, too furious with Dean and desperate to prove himself right to even consider changing his mind about Kappa Sigma right now. Dean is too blind to everything, too stressed and involved in his own problems to sort this out himself. So it falls to him, to Cas, to try and solve the problem – even though, as he keeps saying, it’s not his problem to solve.

 

Despite everything that’s happened over the past week however, Castiel still likes Sam, still knows that underneath the brattiness he’s a good, sweet kid and sure as anything doesn’t deserve a year spent as the Kappa Sigma punching bag.

 

So, because Castiel knows in his heart that there’s no other choice, he asks. “What do you want?”

 

Bart grins at him, so wide Cas is scared his cheeks will split open. “I thought we'd been over this?" All at once Bart's hand is on Cas's thigh, his thumb stroking back and forth across the fabric. All Cas can do is stare down at it in horror. "You know what I want.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dean sits on his bed, back to the headboard, his knees drawn to his chest, fretting. The last time he remembers everything feeling this shitty and hopeless, he was still living with his Dad, back in Lawrence.

 

Why can’t he make anything go right in his life? Why does he constantly have to screw everything up beyond any hope of repair? Is he just that broken?

 

Cas had every right to be pissed at him back at the Roadhouse, there’s no doubt about it. Honestly, it’s a goddamned miracle that Cas has managed to keep a lid on his anger this long, considering how Dean’s been acting recently.

 

It’s a whole different thing when Cas gets mad, though. He’s such a good, decent, kind human being that when he gets pissed, Dean knows he’s really fucked up. He groans into his hands, cursing himself for being such an idiot. He'll deal with Sam later - though he has no clue where to start - right now, he just needs to fix things with Castiel. If that part of his life is fucked up, there's no hope of him getting anything else done. He knows this too well by now. 

 

He’s been trying Cas’s cell for a couple of hours now, to no avail, not that it’s much of a surprise. If he were Cas, he wouldn’t want to pick up the phone either.

 

Just imagine, Dean thinks miserably, drawing his knees closer to his chest, if you’d done everything you could to help the person you love, to warn them and advise them and guide them… and after all of it, they blew up at you for it, blamed you for every goddamned second they didn’t listen to a word you’d said.

 

Dean is so, so in the wrong.

 

As soon as Cas stormed out of the Roadhouse, all of the anger he'd felt, the frustration, everything that Sam had riled up within him just seemed to sort of seep out of Dean, evaporating instantly as soon as he took in the cold, gut-wrenching sight of Cas’s retreating back. Having Castiel mad like that is akin to being plunged into a pool of icy water, Dean thinks, shocking him into the realisation of what a dick he's been. 

 

Then, of course, Dean had had to sit there while Gabe laid into him, cursing and threatening as usual. The guy never shows it in front of Cas of course – some kind of weird sibling rivalry going on there – but he’s fiercely protective of his little brother, the same way Dean is about his own. It seems like every two seconds Dean has Gabe on his back, breathing fire and conjuring up horrifying scenarios of torture he’ll prepare for Dean if he fails to fix things, or ever hurts Cas again.

 

Gabe had stormed off then too, shouting promises of revenge over his shoulder, all of which had Dean so terrified he actually had to take a moment to calm himself down.

 

And then, because nobody had actually ended up ordering anything at the Roadhouse on this goddamned _disaster_ of an evening, Dean just up and left, trudging back home.

 

He’d headed straight for his room as soon as he got in, and this is where he’s been ever since, hunched on his bed, curled in on himself, fretting.

 

He doesn’t know where Sam is. He doesn’t know where Cas is. He hopes they’re both okay. He hopes they'll both contact him, but more than that he hopes they’ll both have sense enough to stay away from him, as all he seems to bring them is utter ruin.

 

He hears the front door crash open downstairs, footsteps falling on the staircase. It’s probably Gabriel, Dean thinks vaguely, or maybe it’s Sam, doing the walk of shame back from the Kappa Sigma Frat house.

 

God, he’s been such a fucking idiot not to listen to Cas. How could he not have realised how bad things are getting? Sam’s in deep now. Dean actually wonders if he’ll be able to pull his little brother out of the thick, tangled mess he’s created. His own brother, wanting to pledge a different fraternity? It's awful, like a punch to the gut, a knife in the heart. Maybe Sam doesn't see it that way at the moment, or maybe he does and he just wants to cause Dean pain - but he's just pissed at Dean for not being around enough. Dean needs to do some serious brotherly damage control in that area too. 

 

All of a sudden, Dean’s bedroom door opens wide, and there stands Cas. He looks frail, weakened somehow, as though he’s about to keel over. Dean’s eyes widen as he takes him in, noting the rumpled clothes, the shivers wracking his body, the haunted look in his glistening blue eyes.

 

“Cas?” Dean says for some reason, tentative, but mainly filled with concern. The guy looks absolutely devastated, seconds from crumping to the floor. Sure, Dean knows he hurt Cas with words, but surely Dean’s ignorance and pig-headedness hasn’t affected Cas this badly? He springs from the bed instantly and steps forwards, wary and cautious, needing Castiel to respond to him. “Cas, what’s wrong?”

 

Castiel doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t seem to want to look at Dean. His gaze fixes into the distance instead, staring blankly at a picture tacked onto the wall. Dean glances over at it, confused.

 

It’s a reel of pictures, six in fact, of him and Cas. Back in January, Dean had ordered a photo booth to be delivered to the Frat for his birthday party. He doesn’t really remember dragging Cas into it, and he especially doesn’t remember the soppy, vomit-inducing look on his face in most of the pictures as he stares at Cas’s smiling profile. He kind of remembers the last picture, where it suddenly seemed incomprehensible to hold off any longer, so he'd dragged Cas towards him for a kiss.

 

It’s a downright lame, disgusting thing to have up in his room really, he’s well aware – his past-self looks down at him in disgust – but he kind of loves the photos, loves how they betray the way he feels about Cas even slightly. And this way, he gets to stare at them all the time.

 

The way Castiel is staring at the photos now though, he almost looks pained.

 

“Cas? Talk to me.” Dean says, putting a hand to Cas’s face, trying to bring their eyes to meet.

 

Cas flinches away from him at once, snapping out of whatever strange state he’s in. He takes a step away from Dean, dodging past him to stand in the middle of the room, uncertain and scared, like a wild animal trapped in a confined space.

 

Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair. He swallows around a painful lump stuck in his throat. Who is he kidding? Nothing else is going on here. He did this to Cas. He needs to stop making excuses for himself. “Cas, look I’m sorry. I know you’re mad, I know I said somethin’ I shouldn’t have again-”

 

“Stop talking.” Castiel whispers, his eyes falling closed. “Please.”

 

Dean’s about to protest, about to press the issue, knowing that he needs to apologise before this ruminates, before everything gets even worse, but then he notices Cas’s face. He takes a step backwards, metaphorically, and forces himself to really look at Cas in this moment, to see him standing there, to just look at him properly.

 

And Castiel looks _wrecked._ He looks like he’s been dragged through Hell itself and then forced up into the world, paraded around like a puppet on a string. Dean’s stomach drops to his knees, his nerves twisting and curling around themselves. What has he done to this poor kid? Where is the bright, innocent, wide-eyed angel he found outside a classroom last September?

 

He makes a strangled noise, positively aching as the guilt consumes him, gathering him in a vice grip, squeezing every last drop of joy out of him. He reaches for Cas, fumbling, and then pulls his hand back sharply, convinced that the very touch of him corrupts. He clenches his hands into fists, dropping them to his sides, and turns his face away so Cas won’t see the hot, anguished tears pricking at his eyes.

 

He hears a sigh then, Cas’s sigh, and a hand finds his, the fingers sliding between his own, loose and ill-fitting as they pull Dean’s hand back up towards him.

 

Cas flattens Dean’s palm against his cheek, his eyes fluttering closed again as he leans into the touch. Dean doesn’t know how to react. Cas’s stubbled skin is wet with what Dean assumes must be tears. What's happening here? He thought Cas would be mad, not devastated like this. Maybe something else has happened. Maybe Dean is missing something again, just like he's been missing everything with Sam-

 

Before he knows how to respond, Cas is stepping forwards, the space between them vanishing completely. Cas buries his face in Dean’s chest, nuzzling into the warmth, his hands grasping for the fabric of Dean’s shirt. It’s all Dean can do to pull him closer, to wind his arms around Cas as tight as he can, to hold him while the sobs shake his slight frame, while his tears soak into Dean’s tee.

 

“Cas… I’m- I’m so sorry.” Dean chokes out, horrified, hardly able to bear it. He did this. He caused this pain, this suffering. What kind of a monster is he? Doing this to a kid!

 

There are more sobs, quiet but forceful, making Cas tremble in Dean’s arms, and Dean just tries to get through it, tries to grit his teeth and bear it, but he can feel his own eyes stinging as well.

 

“It's okay." Dean hears Cas say eventually, and ducks his head down to listen. “It's all okay." There's a pause. "Just… please don’t- please don’t leave me.”

 

Dean grips him tighter as soon as the words wash over him, and he presses his lips to the top of Cas’s head, hoping this will suffice as a reply. His own tears spill over now, he's powerless to stop them. Thank God Cas can’t see them with his face buried in Dean’s chest, because that would only make him more upset.

 

He wishes he could reassure Cas with promises of forever, tell him he's silly for even thinking that Dean would dare break his heart again. But Cas is a smart kid. Dean knows this, he should have known Cas would latch on to this eventually, he should have been more prepared, because now he has nothing to say. No response at all. The thing is, Dean thinks - and it’s agony to even entertain the coherent thought - he’s always known he’d have to leave Cas, one day. The pipe dream of Dean Winchester getting everything – heck, _anything_ – he wants is just that, a foolish, naive fantasy.

 

One day in the not-so-distant future, Dean will have graduated, he’ll be a full-time mechanic with a genius kid brother, coming home each day to a reasonably priced, shitty, small apartment to wash the grease off his hands. He’ll fall into bed each night, exhausted but satisfied that he’s doing enough to keep Sammy on his feet, and that’s enough. That’s enough for him.

 

But to subject _Cas_ to that life? Brilliant, clever, talented, funny, beautiful Castiel Novak... the boyfriend of a no-good, dead-end grease monkey? Are you kidding? That’s no life for him. The kid’s gonna be a fucking Nobel-prize winner one day. He’s gonna do fantastic, ingenious things that haven’t even been dreamt up yet. He’s gonna get mankind up to Mars, he’s gonna cure Cancer, gonna discover a whole new element for the periodic table that will revolutionise the goddamned world.

 

He’s sure as shit not gonna hole up with Dean in a crummy apartment here in town and waste his life away. Dean won’t let him.

 

He knows he has to let Cas go one day. Of course he knows. And Cas must know it too, must at least know that Dean has thought about it or he wouldn't say what he just said.

 

Mostly, Dean has been dealing with things by just avoiding thinking about the future of him and Cas. He can't bear the thought of having to separate from him one day, it's too painful to think about. And Cas sure as Hell doesn't need to be dealing with that kind of agonising thought, that's why Dean hasn't talked to him about it.

 

It's better to just pretend.

 

Pretend they're going to graduate and live together and come home each night to kisses on a threadbare couch or take trips to each other's hometowns and meet each other's parents and have incredible, mind-blowing sex together happily ever after- For now, here in Dean's room, they can pretend all that and more. Dean pulls Cas closer, wrapping his arms around him tight, winding them together as closely as the laws of Physics will allow. 

 

Then, like he's heard, Cas is leaning up, manoeuvring their faces and shifting around until their lips are pressed together, damp and salty with tears. Castiel doesn’t ask why Dean is crying, and for that he’s grateful. He kisses Cas hard, trying to obliterate all other thoughts from his mind apart from the heat of their joined mouths, and weirdly enough it seems to work. Cas’s mouth parts, his tongue finding Dean’s, his hot breath pouring over Dean’s lips as he surges upwards, his arms coiling around Dean’s shoulders.

 

As a distraction technique, the kissing works almost too well. Dean soon finds that his own sadness is being pushed to the back of his mind, and all he can sense is the feeling of Cas’s warm skin as he pushes his hands up under his shirt, the taste of his lips, sweet as rainwater.

 

If there's any indication that the kissing is working well to distract Cas too, it's Cas’s hands winding into Dean’s hair, their kiss deepening, Cas's tongue exploring every inch of Dean's mouth, coiling pleasure into the base of his spine.

 

Dean can feel himself getting hard, which he definitely did not see in the cards tonight, but he goes along with it regardless – it’s a better feeling than the crippling despair at least. His hands slip down over Cas’s ass, squeezing the flesh there, pulling him forwards until their groins push together, and - bingo - Dean knows what that is poking into his thigh.

 

His body takes over then, and he's so excruciatingly glad to be able to shut his brain down, to let muscle memory and familiarity take him over, body and soul. He bends and scoops Cas into his arms in one quick manoeuvre, Cas remaining pliant and unresistant, both of them so used to it that it’s practically habit. Dean walks them over to the bed, throwing Cas down on it before climbing over him, crawling up his body, planting kisses as he goes. 

 

This, he knows, this he can handle easily. Sex with Cas is like breathing now - maybe breathing in thin air, granted, heady and intoxicating - but breathing nonetheless. He can make Cas come, he knows how, he's had enough practice to be able to say he's something of an expert. For the duration of this tryst, he doesn't need to think about anything except Cas beneath him, his wants and needs, his gasps of pleasure, his moans, the feel of his naked body under his fingers. 

 

For a while at least, nothing else is important.

 

They’re apart maybe seconds before Dean seals their mouths together again, his whole body pressed against Cas’s. He wriggles until he’s fitted himself between Cas’s legs, lining them up properly once more until he can grind down, push their erections together, chase that indescribable shockwave of pleasure.

 

Cas bites down on his lip and moans like he does every time, the noise so familiar to Dean, yet so easily overlooked if he weren’t paying attention. He grinds his hips forwards again and swoops down as Cas moans, swallowing the noise up with a fervent kiss, desperate for it, wanting to memorise it, keep it forever.

 

Their clothes need to be gone, he decides. As long as his thoughts are about the present, about this moment in time, then it's okay. He leans up briefly, fingers finding the hem of his t-shirt; Cas stares up at him, reverent and tear-stained, doe-eyes desperate for him, begging him to return. 

 

It's okay baby, Dean tells him in his mind, I'm not going anywhere. Not now.

 

He pulls off his t-shirt quickly, throwing it aside, then reaches for Cas’s, yanking on it even as Cas lies flat, bunching it up around his arms. Cas leans up eventually, allowing Dean to tug it off him, and once it’s gone Dean just swoops in again, sealing them together so quickly Cas barely has time to take a breath.

 

They work together to unwrap themselves from the confines of their jeans, their lips colliding messily as they focus on their task, breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. Dean succeeds first, grunting at Cas to “lift” as he tugs his jeans down past sharp hipbones, over the jut of his ass, finally pushing them down his thighs.

 

This is as much as he can be bothered with before he reaches back up, does the same with Cas’s underwear, and finally Cas’s cock bobs free, hard and every bit as desperate for Dean’s touch as Cas is everywhere else. Cas's hands are everywhere, roaming across his chest, cupping his face, tracing his lips, raking down his back... It's like he can't decide where he wants to touch Dean most. Or like he's memorising him. 

 

Dean shakes the thought away, a cold shiver trembling through him. Not now. 

 

To distract himself, Dean reaches for Cas's cock, grabbing hold of it with one hand, stroking up and down the hot, damp shaft. He clenches his fist around it a little tighter, still pumping gently, and Cas sucks a breath in through his teeth, arching his head back into the pillow. Dean seizes the opportunity to kiss messily down his throat, steering clear of teeth tonight, not biting because he wants to avoid all forms of pain. Cas just needs to feel good, loved, better.

 

Castiel grips Dean's shoulderblades, pressing their bodies so tightly together that Dean starts to find it difficult to continue moving his hand. It doesn’t matter in the end, because Cas’s hands find his face, tilt him up until they’re kissing again, and he whispers: “I need to touch you.”

 

Dean doesn’t think too hard on it, doesn’t let his brain analyse the dynamics of ‘who’s in control’ or the ‘power play’. He just leans up, releases his hold on Cas for the moment, and helps the kid to unfasten his jeans, to shuck them down, past his hips, freeing his own achingly hard erection.

 

Cas whimpers at the sight, hands reaching for him, but Dean bats them away, leaning back down and kissing him into the pillow. He pushes his hips forwards, flinching as his hardness bumps against Cas’s, something that will never lose its ability to knock Dean senseless with how damn _good_ it feels, how right and perfect.

 

He takes hold of both of them in one fist, glancing up to notice Cas staring up at him, his eyes wide and open, pupils blown, but with a vulnerability in them that makes something inside of Dean nervous, makes him want to look away, or just fuck Cas until the only thing Dean sees there is raw, visceral lust.

 

He doesn't know what that's about, really. He suspects it might have something to do with his Dad. Obviously, this is not the right time to think about it.

 

Instead, he starts moving his hand, slowly, loosely, just jerking them together, making Cas’s eyelids flutter, making him whimper softly, clutch at Dean’s arms.

 

Dean watches him, blocking errant thoughts of the outside world from his brain, trying to focus only on Cas's beautiful, breathtaking features as he writhes in ecstasy, biting his lip and gasping Dean's name. And Dean knows how to do this, knows very well how to make Cas completely fall apart. He knows that if he wanted to drive Cas wild, he could whisper filthy things into Cas's ears, suck bruises onto the skin of his throat as he opens him up with his fingers. He could fuck Cas into the mattress until morning, chain him up, tease him with the things in his closet until the tears on his face are from pure, elongated bliss... 

 

But tonight Dean doesn't want to do any of those things. 

 

Try as he might to block out errant thoughts, he knows he hurt Cas terribly. He knows he's been hurting him for days. All he wants to do is lick Cas's wounds - metaphorically of course, that's still way too kinky - kiss away the hurt, the sadness, the look on his face when he came in the door. He just wants to make Cas feel good, nothing more. 

 

There's a moment then, as he continues watching Cas, still only moving them together slowly, where he thinks this might be called making love. It's a little bit of an out of body experience, to be quite honest. He swallows, pushing the thought away in case it makes him do something stupid to rebel against it. 

 

He just continues to move his hand, legs shooting with electric jolts of pleasure from how good it feels pumping them together like this, drawing it out so it feels almost endless. Those soft moans keep falling from Cas's pastel pink mouth, so Dean leans over and licks them up, kissing him until their lips ache, until Dean isn't sure whose moans are whose anymore. He kisses against Cas’s jaw, mouthing up along the shell of his ear, and then pushes their lips together again, drawn back there like a magnet.

 

Cas groans, trembling and spasming a little, his cock pulsing in Dean's fist. Dean kisses him hard, sighing as he feels the wetness trickling over his hand. Knowing that Cas is close now, Dean redoubles his efforts, speeding up a little, his own cock thanking him in response, pumping out a little precome of its own, and Cas moans, feeling it. 

 

Dean rocks his hips forwards over and over in time with his hand, Cas starting to buck his own hips up to meet him in the middle. Their foreheads touch, both of them open-mouthed, gasping now. All at once, Castiel opens his eyes, staring straight up at Dean, and in that second he is gasping, whimpering, his fingers digging into the skin of Dean's shoulders. He comes quietly, almost silently, his stuttered, choked-off breaths the only thing audible apart from the slick movement of Dean's hand.

 

It pours out of him, more than Dean would have imagined their might be, considering this is basically just an intense handjob. He clutches Dean all through it, spillong over himself, over Dean's hand, warm and wet – it’s all it takes to draw Dean over the edge with him, making them both a hot, sticky mess in awkward places, his arms collapsing underneath him as the waves of furious pleasure crash over him again and again, Cas's hand stroking soothingly over his back.

 

Some time later, he opens his eyes to the crook of Cas’s neck, peppered with dark stubble, damp with sweat. Neither of them speak. It feels too raw still, too uncertain. To begin a conversation now would be like attempting to cross a minefield. How could either of them manage it without upsetting the other somehow? That seems to be the only outcome nowadays.

 

Plus... having sex. Well, it seemed like a fantastic idea about an hour ago, but in all honesty it probably wasn't the best way to resolve their issues. Of which there are many. 

 

Was the sex good for Cas? Obviously it seemed like it was, but they barely even talked and... there was a distant sort of despair about it. Not too prominent, but definitely something looming over their heads. After all, Cas's face was wet with tears for the whole thing until Dean kissed them away. God, he has no idea what to say. 

 

Instead of talking, Dean listens out for Cas’s breathing. He moves his hand carefully to rest on Cas’s chest, allowing himself to feel the steady rise and fall of his expanding lungs. It's reassuring, actually. For now, he’s still here. For now, Dean still has him, if nothing else.

 

Maybe the thing that needs to be said is the one thing Dean was trying to avoid. The response to Cas's earlier statement. His plea. After all, Dean can't go on pretending forever. He needs to be honest with Cas, right? That's what you're supposed to do in relationships. Or so he's heard. 

 

“I don’t wanna leave you, Cas.” Dean forces himself to say, blinking away the inevitable tears as they come. “I never wanna leave you.” He chews his lip, listening to that same steady rise and fall. “But someday… someday I’m gonna have to. Don't hate me, I can't- I can't help it. We should talk about it though.”

 

Dean holds his breath, waiting for the backlash, the crying, the storming out- whatever. But it doesn’t come. Cas’s breaths remain even and undisturbed.

 

Slowly, Dean lifts his head from Cas’s shoulder, puzzled. He peers over at the boy beside him, the despair welling up within him as he takes in the slack mouth, the closed eyelids flickering in dream.

 

Damn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all,   
> I don't usually like doing this but I felt it necessary to explain something this time. As I'm sure you've noticed, this fic alternates between Cas and Dean's POV (unlike the prequel which was solely Cas's perspective). This is because I wanted to include Dean's side of the story originally, but down the line I've been using it tactically to let the readers only know one side of the story at certain times.   
> There is an iffy scene in this chapter as you may have noticed - I'm referring to the scene with Cas and Bartholomew. I would like to ASSURE my readers that Castiel was not harmed in any way past what was described in the short passage you read. The 'haunted' look in his eyes when he got back to Dean was not due to sexual abuse or anything of the sort. The reason for this 'haunted' look will become apparent when, in the next chapter, I write from Castiel's perspective. I have purposefully kept the reasoning a secret by writing from Dean's POV at the end of the chapter here because it will interfere with the story if you know too much. Trust me, I don't want to hurt my poor little Cas any more than you want to read about him getting hurt.   
> I just wanted to explain and apologise if I caused any upset by implying Castiel was harmed past what you read in the chapter. He was not.  
> Anyway, apart from that, I hope you enjoyed the chapter (and the Bart/Cas scene anyway hopefully!) and I am starting work on the next one ASAP. Not far to go now guys!   
> Love you all xxx


	9. Chapter 9

It’s not unusual for Cas’s own mind to rescue him in times of distress. It had been necessary ever since he was little, hiding under the bed or in the closet because mom had gone out for the evening and left him with Gabriel, who found it endlessly amusing to tie Cas to the sofa in front of _Night of the Living Dead_ and then dress up as a zombie and stalk him around the dark house until he cried in fear. 

 

Sure, maybe the sight of Gabe covered in tomato ketchup and flaky white face paint wouldn’t scare him so much now, but when he was nine? Enough to leave him permanently scarred.

 

So, to combat his brother’s cruelty, and to try and keep the pee firmly inside his bladder, Castiel’s brain devised a method of its own accord to distract itself. At the peak of his terror, when Gabriel's theatrical groans were close by, he’d fall into a vivid, pleasant hallucination – or, if he was particularly sleepy at the time, just a plain old dream.

 

These dreams would usually be a pleasant memory of his, something he’d experienced in the past that had made him happy. In his dream, he’d be mostly aware of his own state, which meant that he was usually able to control things, move around where he wished, talk to people, that sort of thing. Once he got a bit older and researched the phenomenon a bit, he realised it had a name – lucid dreaming.

 

And it was always fantastic. In his lucid dreams he could do anything he wanted, alter the memory any way he chose. When dreaming of his high school prom, he obliterated the snide girl who told him his shoes were ‘last season’ with superhero-style lasers that shot out of his eyes. When he dreamt of his project winning the science fair (a particular favourite memory of his) he suddenly took off into the air after receiving his trophy, arms outstretched, soaring high above his classmates’ heads while they looked on in awe and admiration.

 

The only problem was, he could never control when he had these lucid dreams. They only ever came to him when he was in times of great distress, just like when he hid from Gabriel as a child. As a matter of fact, it had been several years since Castiel had even had a lucid dream. He just hasn't been upset enough for a long time.

 

Which is why it’s somewhat surprising now when Castiel looks around himself and realises it’s the night of January 24th that year, a date that has definitely already passed.

 

Dean’s birthday party.

 

He smiles to himself a little sadly, knowing immediately that he is lucid dreaming, which must mean that when he wakes up, there’s something upsetting waiting for him in the real world. He can’t remember what it is though. He doesn’t try either. It's much better to just enjoy the distraction. 

 

He’s in the frat house, standing in the living area, a cherry red solo cup in his hand. He lifts it to his nose and sniffs, wincing a little at the unmistakeable smell of rum and coke. Spied rum, if he’s not mistaken. Nevertheless, he takes a sip, unsurprised but amused when the fizz gives way to the far more pleasant taste of lager. He's always hated rum and coke, after all. His mind is far too nice to him, sometimes.

 

He glances around the familiar room, finding it hard to focus on anyone’s faces despite the house being packed with people. Their features seem to blur together, probably because Castiel had barely registered anyone else there that night apart from Dean. He was the only one that mattered after all.

 

He does notice the gaudy, glittering decoration all around - banners reading 'Happy Birthday Alpha', balloons, a disco ball - but this is mostly because Castiel helped put all of these things up while Dean was in class that day. He and the Pledges had worked tirelessly under Gabriel's instruction. Cas can't remember why he let Gabriel take the lead now. Oh well, judging from his memory, the decorations ended up looking pretty spectacular. 

 

He takes another sip of his drink, and glances down at his outfit. Ah yes, he wore his tight jeans, as per Dean's request. Teamed with a loosely fitting, extremely thin grey AC/DC t-shirt that Dean had given to him after telling him - with minimal words - just how hot he looked in it, one might rightly assume that Cas didn't exactly choose his outift for tonight. Smiling at the outfit he'd forgotten he wore this night, Castiel can't help but wonder where Dean is, because if his memory wants to be kind to him, it should deliver the best thing about this night – which was Dean Winchester by his side the entire time.

 

“Hey, gorgeous.” Says Dean suddenly, like he’s heard, and Castiel supposes in a strange kind of way, dream-Dean did probably hear him think that.

 

It doesn’t matter that he’s not real though, Castiel thinks, lifting his face to Dean and finding him every bit as beautiful as ever. His mind really doesn’t skimp on the details – it's got every part of Dean spot on, from the light smattering of freckles on his cheeks, right down to the slight southern drawl that makes Cas's jeans feel even tighter against his crotch.

 

Dean, in comparison to Cas, is wearing typically 'nice' clothes – a fitted black shirt, open at the collar and dark blue jeans. Castiel has no doubt that this is an accurate recreation that his mind has conjured up. He thinks about this outfit a lot, to this day. He’d almost forgotten just how inhumanly good it looks on Dean in the flesh though. The human mind is a wonderful thing, he thinks, sighing as he takes a step, closing the distance between him and Dean in order to run his hands over the onyx material.

 

Dream-Dean chuckles at him, leaning down to place a kiss on Cas's mouth. His lips don’t feel one hundred percent right - too ephemeral, too tasteless - but you can’t have everything. Castiel kisses back, contentedly, fingers gripping the shirt, holding him in place.

 

Eventually, Dean breaks free a little, laughing again, but still holding their faces close. “You havin’ a good time?”

 

Castiel nods, staring into Dean’s eyes with a soft sort of longing. He remembers this so well. The feeling of tipsiness, the overwhelming sensation of Dean's affection and love swimming around him, keeping everything else at bay. He remembers this night being truly wonderful. Dean smiles at him, arms slipping around Cas's waist, rocking them slightly side to side.

 

Castiel feels something clawing at his heart, feels a lump sticking itself stubbornly in his throat. Why is this making him feel almost… sad? What’s waiting for him when he wakes up?

 

He shakes free of the thought. Not now, he tells himself, just enjoy the moment, live in this memory. Like he said, he remembers it being one of the best nights of his life.

 

“Happy birthday, Dean.” Castiel whispers, knowing Dean will hear him even in this dream-world even though there’s loud, indecipherable music thumping and the shouts of party-goers echo all around them.

 

Dean grins, leaning in to kiss him again.

 

“Thanks, baby.” Suddenly, Cas instinctively knows that Dean is a little bit drunk, even though he didn’t seem to be before. Perhaps it's another part of his memory, reminding him of exactly how this moment went, or maybe it's his own mind protecting him, distracting him from whatever's lurking outside the dream by giving him drunk, horny, irresistible Dean, impossible to ignore or deny. Dean's kisses grow more insistent, his hands wandering, and he slips his tongue into Cas’s mouth, making him groan. Dean’s hands slide over his back, cupping his ass and squeezing, pushing their hips together. “Think I know what I want for my present.”

 

Oh Christ, Castiel thinks, remembering this moment even as it replays in real time. Before Dean even tells him, he remembers exactly what it is that Dean has decided he wants for his birthday at this moment, and it’s enough to get him grinding against Dean’s thigh – which has somehow slipped between his legs already.

 

The cup in his hand seems to have disappeared, so he grips Dean’s arms, holding on tightly as Dean continues to kiss him, messy and full of unrestrained lust. He thrusts against Dean’s leg, moaning at the sensation the friction creates; he knows he’s being obscene, doing this here, in front of so many people – but that’s the wonderful thing about these dreams, he can do whatever he wants.

 

Sure enough, Castiel thinks as he darts a glance towards the blurry-faced crowd nearby, nobody is even paying them any mind.

 

It’s kind of funny really, Cas can’t help thinking as he bites Dean’s lip hungrily, pushing fingers into his hair, that in all his other lucid dreams he chooses to do wild, impossible things just because he can. He makes thunderclouds appear indoors and rain monsoons down on unsuspecting folk, shows off his flawless breakdancing skills and smashes through walls with his super-strength. But here, in this dream… all he wants to do is kiss Dean, love him exactly as he did on this very night.

 

Everything else seems irrelevant when he could have this.

 

“Deeeeeaaann-oooooooo!” A loud group of people call from somewhere to Cas’s right, and to Cas’s dismay, Dean breaks away from kissing him to look.

 

He looks up, grinning over at the guys who just called to him. “Aw, man! What the Hell do you guys want?!”

 

Crap, Cas thinks, feeling disgruntled, he’d forgotten about this part of the night. He looks over to where Gordon, Luke, Gabriel and some of the other Psi Delta Alpha boys have bowled in, idiotic baseball caps on their heads and a keg held aloft between them.

 

“Well, everyone except Gabe is under strict instructions to give you birthday bumps, a birthday keg stand, and to get you a birthday lap dance from one of these lovely sorority ladies.” Gordon informs Dean, gesturing at Meg and Ruby, who both appear from the midst of the huddle, grinning manically. Castiel feels his blood begin to boil, and devil horns erupt from the two girls' heads without warning, displacing their perfect curls, not that they notice. 

 

On the actual night of Dean's birthday, Cas had said nothing during Gordon’s little speech, not wanting to ruin Dean’s night by becoming a jealous, possessive asshole and making a big stink about the lapdance thing, but now… well, this is his memory. His lucid dream. He can do whatever he likes.

 

“Fuck you, Gordon.” Castiel yells over the music, making Walker’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I have exclusive ownership over Winchester’s lap. If I see one girl go near it I will not hesitate to pulverise the living shit out of her and you.”

 

Okay, maybe that was a little strong, he thinks, judging by the stunned look on the Psi Delta Alpha boys’ faces, but at least he got his point across. Gordon even looks a little shame-faced, which is a lovely sight to behold, even if Cas might never actually get to see it for real. 

 

Suddenly, Dean’s lips are right by his ear, and there’s a hand on his ass, squeezing again. “Fuck, that was hot.”

 

Castiel tries to hide his smug smile, though the scarlet blush on his cheeks makes an appearance as always.

 

“Uh, well, looks like this is where I step in.” Gabriel pipes up, filling the stunned silence that followed Castiel’s threats. Cas’s eyes narrow at his dream-brother, who steps towards him tentatively. No, Castiel states firmly in his mind, not this time. “Now now Cassy, play nice. I’ve been voted the one to hold you hostage someplace else while the brothers give Dean his birthday treats. I suggest you come quietly.”

 

“Aw, can’t he come?” Dean whines from somewhere behind Cas, and it’s possibly the sweetest thing Cas has ever heard. For the second time. 

 

On the night itself, Gabe had overpowered Cas easily at this moment. He’d tackled Cas to the floor, handcuffed his hands behind his back and dragged him out of the room. Years of tormenting Cas in every conceivable way had given Gabriel an entirely unfair advantage when it came to capturing him – the guy knew his every weakness. Castiel had been virtually powerless.

 

But this time, Castiel thinks with a wry smile, it will all be different. This time he’ll pummel Gabriel into the dirt with his superhuman strength, he’ll blast him to smithereens with a click of his fingers and go back to kissing Dean, maybe they'll skip over this annoying part of the night and find some dark corner to make out in instead-

 

Gabriel lunges in the split second Castiel’s imagination runs away with him. His brother knocks him to the floor, using the weight of his body to flip Cas until he’s sprawled on his front. Gabriel grabs one frantically flailing hand, then the other, and pins them both at Cas’s lower back, securing the handcuffs around them in one slick movement.

 

Shit.

 

It seems, Castiel thinks with frustration flooding through him, that even in his own unconscious mind, Gabriel is still his annoyingly strong, unbeatable big brother.

 

“Don’t sweat it Cassy,” Gabriel says, not even breathless – the asshole. “This is why they picked me to take you down. You can’t beat me, you never could.”

 

Gabriel swats him on the ass for good measure, clambering off him before dragging Cas to his feet. Yeah right, Cas thinks, stumbling as he peels himself off the floor with no hands to support him, you just wait, Gabe. In a few months time, you’ll bear witness the true force of Castiel Novak’s fury. 

 

Just think of the moths, the tarantula, the dick pics sent to every girl in school, Castiel tells himself as the faceless party-goers snigger at him. It's not long after this night that you get your long-awaited revenge. 

 

“Okay, come on Dean-o,” Dream-Gordon yells once Cas is upright, marching over to Dean and shoving him in the direction of the door. “You’ll see pipsqueak later. Say goodbye for now.”

 

Dean cranes his neck, trying to see behind him to wave at Cas as he’s ushered quickly out of the room. “Find me later, angel!”

 

God damn it. Looks like he’ll have to live this memory out more or less exactly how it happened. Gabriel takes hold of his arm by the crook of his elbow, and Castiel looks over at him, scowling.

 

“Oh relax, little bro.” Gabriel says, rolling his eyes. “There’ll be plenty of time for hot birthday sex with muttonhead later.”

 

Castiel comforts himself with the thought that yes, actually, he and Dean did have lots of hot birthday sex later this same night. So not all is lost, he supposes. He wishes he didn't have to relive this boring part of the party without Dean though. God, frat boys are so annoying. 

 

With that, Gabriel shoves Castiel, rather rudely in the direction of the front hall. Nameless, faceless figures part for them as they wander through the room, though Cas does register that they still seem to be laughing at him. Probably because he just got tackled to the floor in two seconds flat by his much shorter, much more irritating brother.

 

Still, this is _his_ dream. They should be more respectful. He could start shooting laser beams out of his eyes at any given moment.

 

“Where are we going?” Castiel asks crossly, even though he already knows the answer.

 

Gabriel is taking him upstairs, to his room in order to ‘have a heart-to-heart’ while the other brothers do God knows what to Dean elsewhere. Except… for some reason, Castiel knows that he and Gabriel don’t make it as far as the deep, bonding sesh. Something interrupts them before they get there. He just can’t quite remember what it is.

 

He struggles to conjure up the memory before it plays out before his eyes, but he’s already on the stairs, Gabriel eagerly slapping his rear, urging him forwards. There's an awkward moment where Castiel has to duck under the rope tied across the stairwell with his hands tied - the brothers had fixed it there with a half-hearted, hand-scrawled sign attached reading 'Off Limits!!!'. He manages to get under it somehow, with Gabriel's impatient assistance. He still doesn't know what happens at the top of the stairs though. Why don't he and Gabriel make it into his room? What happens at this point in the night? He thought he remembered everything.

 

All too soon they are on the upstairs landing, Gabriel chattering away by Castiel’s side about some ridiculous nonsense – a girl he’s stalking round the party by the sounds of things. Castiel doesn’t have to listen because he already listened once.

 

“Hellooo? Cassy?” Gabriel says impatiently, jabbing Cas in the shoulder. “Am I talking to myself here? Kali said I might be in with a shot if I give her my hat for the night. Do you think she’s lying?”

 

They’re outside Gabriel’s room now. Cas turns to his brother, sighing, about to reply that yes, of course she’s lying because his hat is hideous and Kali probably only wants to burn the thing in front of him to see him cry (Castiel has had the pleasure of meeting Kali in the past – his brother sure likes the mean ones), but at that moment, an eruption of shouting and swearing sounds from the end of the hall.

 

Dean’s room.

 

Gabriel stiffens at once, his face hardening. It’s a peculiar sight to behold, and Castiel marvels at his brother, watching the authority of being ‘second in command’ flood his body, tensing him.

 

“Wait here.” Gabriel says, his voice quietly furious.

 

Before Cas can even dare to respond, Gabriel is stalking away. Ohhh, that’s why he doesn’t remember this part, Castiel thinks to himself as he watches Gabriel’s retreating back. It’s because at this point, Castiel realised his opportunity for freedom and snatched it, scarpering back down the stairs to search out Dean.

 

After half an hour or so, he'd found him in the garden, shirt unbuttoned and also with his hands tied behind his back, being fed lime green shots by Meg and Ruby. He'd stuck with Dean from that point onwards, partly to ensure Meg and Ruby didn't try anything further, but also because he just didn't want to leave Dean's side. He hadn’t gone back upstairs until Dean had taken him there in the wee hours of the morning. Heck, had he even seen Gabriel after that point?

 

Castiel doesn’t move this time. He doesn’t run down the stairs to find Dean, he just stays in place, eyes fixed on the spot Gabriel has wandered off to. He watches his brother throw open the door to Dean’s room, but the light is strange, opaque – he can’t make out what’s inside.

 

“What’s goin’ on in here?!” Cas hears Gabriel yell, just as he remembers hearing on the night itself – as he was fleeing down the stairs, trying hard not to trip due to his cuffed hands. “Can’t you fuckers read? Upstairs is off-limits!” 

 

Castiel gulps. Why has he never wondered what happened here before? Why has he always just assumed everything had been fine? Maybe this isn’t his standard lucid dream after all. Maybe this is a chance to discover a secret that his mind has kept locked away until now.

 

Slowly, tentatively, he creeps forwards on the landing, edging towards Dean’s bedroom. It’s a path well-travelled for him, obviously, but in his dream it seems different. Everything grows darker with each step he takes, until he can’t see his own feet touching the floor. The only light is that up ahead – Dean’s open door, which Gabriel has disappeared into now.

 

He never went this way on the real night of Dean’s birthday; these are steps he’s never taken. Steps that don’t exist. What’s he going to find inside Dean’s open door?

 

Will it make any sense? Will it just be his brain making up false images? Will it wake him up? Will he step through the door and just be outside in the garden, looking at Ruby pouring green sourz into Dean’s mouth, a snide grin on her face?

 

So many questions.

 

The floor grows soft, impossibly so, almost squelching under Cas’s feet as he walks. He’s almost there now, and it’s just as well, because he can’t make out anything except the doorway in front, everything else seems to have just evaporated away. The noise, the music, the laughter, everything. It's just gone.

 

Finally, the door comes within arms length, and Castiel reaches for it, which makes him realise that his handcuffs have melted away too. He's near blind, hardly able to see in front of his own face, but his hand connects with the doorframe. He uses this one hand to haul himself closer, finding it more and more difficult with the floor sucking at the soles of his shoes.

 

At long last, he manages to poke his head around the doorframe, near blinded by the light, and he waits, heart pounding, for his eyes to adjust.

 

“Get the fuck outta here, Novak!” A harsh voice shouts, and Cas flinches, not expecting anyone to react so violently to his presence.

 

But then he makes out Gabriel, and realises he's not the one being cursed at. His brother is clutching something with two hands, holding it a short way in front of his face, shaking his head. “You freaking morons.” Gabriel snorts, sounding weirdly calm, but with an undertone of fury. “You seriously think you can get away with doin’ this?! I mean, when we haze our Pledges we’re not nice, but this… and in _Dean’s_ room? Are you fucking crazy?”

 

“That shithead has it coming.” The first voice spits out, and this time, Castiel makes out a shape in the bright light. It’s a voice he recognises too, authoritative and angry. “You all do, your pathetic excuse for a fraternity has gotten underserved respect for too long.”

 

At that second, someone lunges for Gabriel, and thanks to the guy’s quick reflexes, Gabe snatches whatever it is he’s holding out of the way before it can be grabbed.

 

“Ah ah ah.” Gabe says in a sing-song voice. “I think I’m gonna hold onto this, actually. Might need it one day.”

 

Gabriel tucks the object into his back pocket, grinning manically at the others in the room.

 

“You’re gonna pay for this, Novak.”

 

“What the fuck are you still doing here?!” Gabriel near-yells. “You want me to go get Dean? He’s downstairs with a loooot of buddies! I’m sure he’d be all too happy to kick you outta here himself!”

 

Suddenly, two blurry-faced shapes start towards Cas out of the blinding brightness, storming forwards in a furious shapeless rage. Castiel feels them knock into his shoulders as they push past him, disappearing into the emptiness behind. He never found out who they were.

 

“Hey there.” Gabriel says, quieter now, and Castiel turns to face the scene once more, having to squint still in the bright light. His brother seems to be kneeling next to something now, and Castiel takes a step forwards into the room, trying to make out what. “C’mon, let’s get you up. I’m sorry about those guys – guess you picked the wrong frat to pledge, huh? Yeah, yeah I’m sure you’d probably punch me for sayin’ that if you weren’t gagged, right?”

 

Castiel steps forwards again, now able to see that his brother has another, smaller shapeless entity beside him, and he’s pulling it off the floor. Cas takes a moment to appreciate that he’s inside Dean’s room, yet the walls are totally blank, there’s not a scrap of what he knows in here at all. It’s just white.

 

Then, almost as soon as he thinks it, Dean’s room as he knows it today blinks into view all around him – his bed with the plaid duvet, the lava lamp, the bong, heck even the photos of he and Dean that they took on this very same night. How does that work?

 

Castiel focuses on his brother again, and sucks in a breath of horror. Half carried by Gabriel, looking gaunt, pale and frightened – hands bound, clothing minimal, crude words and symbols drawn onto his chest, back, legs, face… it’s Sam.

 

“What- Sam?!” Castiel can’t help exclaiming, his voice panicky. “No! You weren’t even here this night, you were back in Kansas- no!”

 

Sam turns to look at Cas, wide-eyed, taking him in for the first time, clearly having not seen him before.

 

Who were those people in here a moment ago?! Who did this to Sam?!

 

“Who’s Sam?” Sam asks, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. “I’m just a Kappa Sigma pledge.”

 

Gabriel is staring at Cas now, his face concerned. “You shouldn’t be in here, Cassy.”

 

“Gabe!” Cas cries out, near helpless with confusion. “You can see this is Sam, right? Sam Winchester?!”

 

“Sam Winchester doesn’t go here, Cassy.” Gabriel says, looking even more concerned. “This is just a random pledge.”

 

The not-Sam nods, agreeing, and Cas lets out a yelp of fear. “Gabe! Who were those two people here before?! Did that really happen? Tell me what’s going on!”

 

Gabriel shakes his head slowly, starting to help the not-Sam hobble out of the room. “You shouldn’t be here, Cassy. You need to wake up.”

 

In his state of panicked hysteria, Castiel doesn’t remember anything about the dream, or the fact that this is a memory – all he knows is that there’s something he’s _missing_ here, something vital that he needs to know before-

 

Gabriel turns to him, his eyes wrong, the colour of emeralds. “Wake up!”

 

* * *

 

“Cas? C’mon, shake it off, wake up.”

 

Castiel’s eyes fly open with a start and he sucks in a gasp, the dregs of his dream clinging to him, stinging his skin like nettles, then slipping away. Dean is leant over him, his face a concerned frown. He’s got both hands on Cas’s shoulders; his eyes are wide and frightened.

 

“W-what’s…” Castiel tries to say, finding his vocal chords strained and weakened somehow.

 

Dean visibly relaxes at the sound of Castiel speaking. His grip loosens, but he doesn’t move his hands from Cas’s shoulders. “You were havin’ a nightmare.”

 

“A nightmare?” Castiel repeats, bewildered at the term. His lucid dreams never normally become nightmares. But then again, he never normally strays from the original memory like he did this time. He shudders, thinking of Sam’s cold, hollowed expression, so beaten down, so hopeless. “Oh.” Cas takes a moment to just breathe, willing the images away. “Sorry.”

 

“Sorry?” Dean repeats, incredulous for some reason. Castiel blinks up at him. “Sorry for what? You’re allowed to have nightmares, Cas.” Dean waits for Castiel to respond, but he doesn’t know how. Everything is too messy. He doesn’t know what to say. It was just a dream, he tells himself. “I was worried. You were calling out, uh…” Dean looks a little uncomfortable. “You were callin’ out Sam’s name.”

 

Castiel averts his eyes. Events of yesterday wash through his mind in an almighty rush, near blinding him. He feels sick to the stomach suddenly, thinking of how skewed everything is. The arguments with Dean, the Roadhouse, Sam saying he’s pledging Kappa Sigma… _Bartholomew._

 

That’s the killer. Cas feels bile crawling up his throat, feels the tears start to sting in his ducts. He can’t even look at Dean, despite the guy hovering two inches from his face.

 

_You know what I want._

His skin crawls.

 

“Cas?” Dean asks, his voice wavering. Crap, Cas needs to be more careful about letting things show. “Cas, is somethin’ wrong? I know things are crappy right now with us and Sam and all that but… you’d tell me if there was somethin’ really wrong, right?”

 

What should he do here? Cas’s hands grip the sheets in tight fists. He stares across the room at the sign on Dean’s wall reading ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’ in swirly pink neon. He's never really paid it much attention before, but maybe he should. It's a really gross thing to have in a bedroom. It's too much like the panty wall Dean used to have proudly on display before Cas asked him to take it down. 

 

He wishes he could just tell Dean the real issue that's plaguing his mind, he wishes it were that simple, but it isn’t. Things haven’t been simple in what feels like forever. It’s best to just continue on, barrelling straight down this path of utter shit until… well. Castiel is trying damn hard not to think about what lies ahead, honestly. It’s best to just live in the moment, to tell Dean everything’s fine and not trouble him with the news that they’re on a tiny raft headed straight for what could be a sheer drop.

 

Castiel must pretend. He has to, for everyone’s sake.

 

He turns his face to Dean’s, meeting his eyes at last. He tries a smile. It goes okay. “Of course.”

 

He leans up then, catching Dean by surprise and kissing him, knowing that his lips are a warm, tempting distraction and Dean won’t be able to resist. Sure enough, a few seconds pass, and Dean kisses him back, sighing in contentment, pressing him into the pillow.

 

When Dean breaks away, he looks unconvinced, but sated enough that Castiel knows he will accept things as they are for now. At least for one more day, and really that might be all Castiel needs.

 

“I better go, then.” Dean says, sounding despondent. His eyes are begging Castiel to plead with him to stay, like always.

 

Castiel's heart aches. It's always been impossible for him to deny Dean Winchester anything he desires, so he obliges. Anyway, it could end up being the last time. He pouts, reaching for Dean’s hand and squeezes.

 

“Don’t go.” Castiel says, like he’s supposed to. A part of him wishes Dean really would stay. Then maybe they'd have more of a chance. Dean quirks a smile, bringing his and Cas’s joined hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to their knuckles.

 

“Have to, angel.” He says predictably, and leans forwards, kissing Castiel briefly on the mouth. A part of Castiel screams in protest when he thinks about the idea this might be the last kiss he ever receives from Dean. But he quiets the voice enough to hear Dean’s goodbye, just in case it's the last one he ever hears. “I’ll see you later?”

 

“Of course.” Castiel assures him, feeling the lies rotting his tongue. 

 

Dean smiles again then, and releases his hand, getting up off the bed.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s around ten in the morning and Castiel is sitting on the couch with a mug of instant coffee, shrouded in one of Dean’s hoodies, fretting. He doesn’t know where Gabriel is, or Sam, or any of the frat for that matter – it seems surprisingly empty here today. There are usually at least one or two frat boys mingling around in their boxers, frying endless rashers of bacon in the kitchen or sprawling on the sofas in front of the Xbox. 

 

But today Castiel seems to be more or less alone here, not that he particularly minds. He’d rather not have to pretend like everything’s fine in front of people right now.

 

He takes a sip of his coffee, relishing the bitter taste on his tongue, knowing it’s giving him energy, fuel for the arduous day ahead. Hopefully with enough cups of coffee he can actually make a proper decision.

 

He’s interrupted from his inner monologue by a clear knock on the front door. He swivels around on the sofa, turning to peer into the front hall, where the door is just visible. He waits, expecting a Pledge to come flying down the stairs and hurl open the door before he’s pounded to a pulp for letting a visitor stand outside for too long, but nothing comes.

 

Huh, Cas thinks, that’s weird. Where the heck are all the Pledges?

 

Another knock sounds.

 

It takes Castiel’s brain a minute to click into action, but eventually he realises that if he is, in fact, the only one here, then it’s going to have to be him that opens the door.

 

Crap.

 

He sets his coffee cup down on the coffee table gingerly, biting his lip.

 

Another knock, more insistent this time.

 

What if it’s the Kappa Sigma’s? What if it’s the dean of the University coming to check up on Psi Delta Alpha’s charter or whatever it’s called? Castiel is just ill-equipped to handle this sort of thing, he should not be left in charge, for Christ’s sake he’s not even a member of this stupid fraternity-

 

Crap. He’s somehow made it over to the door.

 

KNOCK, KNOCK.

 

This time, the banging actually makes him jump a little. His heart begins to race. Oh God, this is going to be a disaster.

 

He screws his eyes shut, cursing his terrible luck and pulls open the door.

 

Standing on the doorstep, wide-eyed, slightly manic-looking and a little less utterly perfect than Castiel has seen her previously, is Anna.

 

She blinks at him when she sees him, one fist still held up in mid-air, clearly ready to knock again, possibly even more aggressively. Castiel trains his eyes on the pale fist warily, slightly cautious of her in her current state. She might be dainty and slim, but she’s got heels that could pierce a man’s heart and a look in her eyes that says she's not in any mood to be messed with.

 

“Castiel?” She says, sounding confused, and she lowers her fist, to Cas’s relief. “Where are the Pledges?”

 

Cas just shrugs. Well, he has no idea, and maybe if he gives out minimal information and is generally useless, Anna might just leave and he can go back to fretting.

 

“Can I come in?” Anna persists, sounding determined. Castiel sighs internally – no such luck.

 

He nods, stepping aside to let her clickety-clack over the threshold in her stiletto’s. She heads straight for the middle of the hall, looking around herself, as though searching for something.

 

“There’s no one here?” She asks Castiel as he closes the door behind them.

 

“I don’t know.” Castiel admits, walking past her back into the living area, wanting his coffee back in his hands again. “Not that I’ve seen.”

 

Anna follows him as though he invited her, and he suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. What the heck does she want? Can’t she see this is a bad time? He’s literally wrapped in Dean’s hoodie, all alone in the house, brooding. Surely she must know that the last thing Cas wants is a conversation with the girl who he – against his better judgement – can’t help despising.

 

He sits heavily down on the couch again, reaching for his coffee. Anna sits beside him, smoothing her skirt down as she perches on the cushion.

 

There’s an awkward few moments where Castiel gulps down his coffee and Anna watches, her face unreadable. Cas colours suddenly, glancing down at the coffee mug, his own manners getting the better of him.

 

“Um, do you… want some coffee?”

 

“No, thank you.” Anna replies, and Castiel tries not to let the relief show on his face. “I’ll get straight to the point, Castiel.” She says, sounding strangely businesslike all of a sudden. “I’m worried about Sam.”

 

Castiel can’t help it, he smiles a little, trying to aim it into his coffee mug so she doesn’t see. Oh, what a saint she is, he thinks sarcastically. Tottering about on her high heels, banging on doors to express her genuine, heartfelt concern about the younger Winchester boy as though she’s the only one who gives a damn.

 

She’s not the one risking everything to get the kid out of the mess he’s created. She’s not the one that’s been blamed for every wrong decision Sam’s made, or yelled at for trying to address the warning signs before it got to this point.

 

Castiel kind of wants to throw the rest of his coffee over her pristine little outfit for a moment, but the feeling passes.

 

“Honestly Cas, I didn’t think you’d be the one I was talking to about this.” Anna continues, not noticing Cas’s reaction. “I thought I’d at least find a member of Psi Delta Alpha… but in hindsight I suppose it doesn’t really matter who it is as long as they have some influence over the situation.” Anna smiles at him, her eyes kind, but a little condescending too if you squint. “Actually, you might have the most influence of all. I’d be willing to bet Dean’s more likely to listen to you than anyone else.”

 

Cas doesn’t know what to say. It’s best to just appease her, to tell her he’ll take care of everything, right? Then maybe she’ll go away. Nothing she can do will help. He nods along, smiling back, hoping it doesn’t look as fake as it feels.

 

“You know why I’m worried, right Cas?”

 

Castiel sighs, swirling the coffee in his cup round and round. “Yeah, because um… he’s pledging Kappa Sigma blah, blah.” Cas takes a sip of coffee, not really focusing on his words because he knows he only needs to say what Anna wants to hear. “And Kappa Sigma have intricate plans in store for him and are gonna treat him like shit to get back at Dean… and um, Sam won’t see it that way because he’s mad at Dean… blah, blah something has to be done.”

 

Castiel stops rambling, and Anna is silent for a few moments, staring at him. He glances up at her, raising his eyebrows. What, he thinks at her, that’s what you wanted to hear, right?

 

“Cas…” Anna starts tentatively. “You… seem to know a lot about this.” She swallows, and her eyes grow almost frightened. “All I knew was that Sam had plans to pledge Kappa Sigma in the fall. Obviously, because it’s Kappa Sigma I had my suspicions they might have ulterior motives but… Cas, do you know that for sure?”

 

Crap, Cas thinks, looking away from her. He gave away too much.

 

“Know what for sure?”

 

Anna bites her lip. “Do you know, for certain, that Kappa Sigma are planning to hurt Sam unfairly next year during his time as a Pledge in order to upset Dean?”

 

Damn, that was well phrased. Anna’s a smart girl, he’ll give her that.

 

Well, he can’t exactly lie, can he? He already basically admitted he knows more than her. “Well,” Castiel begins, mind racing ahead of him trying to work out the best way to phrase this so she’ll just accept it and _leave_ , “I might have run into Bartholomew…”

 

Shit! Don’t say that! He hasn’t told anyone that bit yet; Anna sure as Hell doesn’t need to know. He wishes he could stuff the words back into his mouth, but already Anna’s eyes are growing wide and surprised, her pink lipsticked mouth falling open into a perfect ‘o’.

 

“Shit, Cas, are you okay?” Anna asks him, suddenly filled with concern for _him_ of all things.

 

Castiel doesn’t know what’s happening to him, he feels stupid, traitorous emotions welling up inside him, threatening to leak out and he can’t let them. Anna reaches out a careful hand, placing it gently on his arm. Castiel can feel her warmth, her kindness even through the fabric of Dean’s hoodie, and he can’t stop it – he breaks, the dam inside him bursts.

 

Tears spill out of his eyes; he chokes around a sob.

 

“Oh, Cas,” Anna says, her voice full of sympathy, and she moves like lightning.

 

She grabs the coffee mug out of Cas’s hands before he can spill it all over the cushions and places it on the table. Then she scoots forwards, her skirt rucking up now, though she doesn’t seem to care anymore. One pale, slender arm slips around his shoulders, the other draws him in towards her, enclosing him in a hug.

 

She doesn’t say much, she just holds him, and Castiel can’t seem to stop the tears. It’s embarrassing as Hell, especially considering how he feels about Anna, but he knows he couldn’t stop it if he wanted to, and she’s just so good at being _there,_ being a comfort. A silent, cradling comfort.

 

Castiel cries because of Bart, thinking of every time the guy has touched him when he didn’t want it and how it made him feel as filthy as he can imagine feeling. He cries over every word exchanged between them last night, and then cries thinking about coming home to Dean, hearing him apologise even when things seemed as hopeless as they did.

 

He cries for a long time. Eventually, Anna shifts, and Castiel withdraws from her a little, sitting back and wiping his face with Dean’s sleeve. At this point, Dean probably doesn’t own a hoodie that isn’t soaked with Cas’s tears. He wonders what that means.

 

“Cas… did Bart… did he…?” Anna asks, tripping over her own words, sounding horrified by them even as they leave her lips. Castiel glances towards her and to his surprise notices that her eyes are glistening too. For fuck’s sake, she has to go and care about him, doesn’t she? That makes it so much harder to hate her.

 

Castiel sighs, eyes fluttering closed. “No. He just... said things.”

 

Anna breathes a sigh of relief. “I mean I just… I’ve heard what the others have been saying. Meg and Ruby, they hang around with the Kappa Sigma’s. That’s how I knew about Sam.” She explains, her mouth twisting into a frown. “They talk about Bart sometimes… they say he has a… thing about you. That you’re his... conquest or some horrible thing like that.”

 

“Yes, he’s made that clear.” Castiel agrees, gulping down the horror.

 

“So… what happened?” Anna asks, sounding afraid of her own question.

 

Castiel looks at her, seeing only concern and genuine care in her expression. Suddenly he’s just sick of hiding it inside himself. At least Anna will listen to what he has to say. She won’t get mad, won’t make him cry with sharp, cruel words or blame him for other people’s mistakes. Heck, she might even be able to help. What’s he got to lose, after all?

 

So, before he can stop himself, Cas tells her everything, the words pouring out of him without rhyme or reason in a great waterfall of teary, emotional baggage. He starts with the very first night Sam arrived, how he and Sam’s promising relationship had soured as time went on, and as a result, his and Dean’s.

 

He spares no detail, though he’s unable to look at Anna when he gets to the bits involving Bart. It’s too shameful. He can’t bear to see the pity in her eyes.

 

He omits the specifics of his night of the switch with Dean, stating only that they participated in an activity that took a great deal of trust on Dean’s part, for which Cas is both proud and grateful.

 

When he gets to last night, the end of the conversation with Bartholomew, he winces, knowing this is dangerous territory. If he tells Anna the idea he is wrestling with, she could ruin any plans he makes before they’ve even been put in place.

 

“…I know it’s awful, horrific even…” Castiel says, not looking at Anna directly. This is the most shameful part of all. “But if I don’t agree to Bartholomew’s terms, Sam will… well, I can’t let the Kappa Sigma’s get ahold of him for an entire year.”

 

“Castiel, you _can’t._ ” Anna says urgently, her voice more panicky than it has sounded for the entire duration of their conversation. “That is absolutely off the cards. You can’t even consider it. It’s blackmail! I’m pretty sure it’s illegal! Think of Dean, think of yourself – we’ll find another way to help Sam. You matter too.”

 

Castiel nods half-heartedly, only sort of hearing what Anna’s saying. “But Anna,” he whispers, two more tears falling before he can stop them, “Dean already said there’s no future for him and I.”

 

“No, Cas, that is _not_ what he said-”

 

“There’s a future for Dean and Sam, obviously." Castiel interrupts, barely hearing her. "Nothing can ever break them up, they’re brothers. It makes sense to sacrifice the doomed relationship over the one that's going to last.”

 

“Castiel, listen to me, I’m gonna tell you something a wise old man in a wheelchair once told me at a pep rally after-party.” Anna says, bringing her face almost uncomfortably close to his. “Family don’t end in blood.” The colloquialism sounds strange in Anna’s posh accent. “Dean and Sam might be brothers, but I’ve never seen _anyone_ look at someone with the amount of love an devotion as there is in Dean's eyes when he looks at you. You’re family too.”

 

Gosh, Castiel thinks, Anna is smart, persuasive, beautiful. She’s a package deal, truly. He understands why she’s so irresistible to those interested in women. Heck, he doubts he’d mind too much if _he_ had to kiss her, aside from the obvious hatred he still harbours in his heart over the Dean-thing.

 

What a lovely way to put it. ‘Family don’t end in blood’.

 

It’s almost too easy to hop aboard that train of thought, let it carry him away into the sunset, where Dean will undoubtedly be waiting at his destination, arms outstretched and ready for Cas to climb into.

 

And yeah, maybe it’s even partly true. Castiel knows by now that Dean loves him a great deal. He’s not deluded anymore, even if he does still find it virtually unbelievable. But Dean’s fears about the future, his anxiety over Sam, his own self-deprecation… these things are all stronger than his love for Cas.

 

These things will win in the end.

 

Maybe it wouldn’t happen today, maybe it wouldn’t happen for another month or another year, but one day Dean will cut himself loose from Cas’s ties. He’ll tell himself he’s doing it for Sam, for Cas, for all the right reasons in the world, and nobody will be able to convince him otherwise. He’s too stubborn, just like his brother.

 

So what’s the point in waiting around for that day? What’s the point in living life terrified of that inevitable moment when Dean works up the courage to break Cas’s heart for good?

 

Castiel might as well just do it himself. Rip off the hypothetical band-aid. And will there ever be a better time than this? If he does it now, he could save Sam from a year of relentless torment. That’s got to be a worthy reason, if anything.

 

Anna can’t know any of this, of course. She’s a spanner in the works, bless her. At least Cas’s resentment of her has dwindled to almost nothing today. That’s a positive, at least. She really is a good person.

 

Cas has to lie to her, tell her she’s changed his mind. “Thank you, Anna.” He smiles widely at her, and so she doesn’t get a chance to study his face for signs of lies, he pulls her in for a hug. “You’re right. Together, we can all find a way to help Sam that doesn’t involve anyone being caught in the crosshairs.”

 

He feels Anna’s shoulders losing some of their tension, and tries not to feel too relieved. “I’m so glad, Castiel. You’re so important, you know that? To Dean, to the college, to everyone.”

 

Castiel draws away from her, reaching for his coffee cup. He slurps the dregs of it down, despite the fact they’re now ice cold. “You’re sweet for saying so.”

 

Anna touches his knee briefly, smiling. “This whole situation reminds me of one I was in not too long ago,” Anna starts saying, and Castiel takes this as his cue to more or less zone out again, “Theta Phi is the biggest Sorority on campus but our rivals, Lambda Nu, were just awful. They lost their charter after a while, thank God, but I had real problems with them – especially their President, Bela, some British bitch. Had Crowley wrapped around her little finger – I think they bonded over their English heritage.”

 

“Uh huh.” Cas says, not really listening.

 

“Speaking of Sorority stuff I should probably get back to the Recruitment Fair, I said I’d only be gone an hour or so…”

 

Castiel nods distractedly, then cottons on to what Anna is saying. “Recruitment fair?”

 

“Yeah, you know, for Spring Rush.” Anna says, digging her phone out of an unseen pocket that Castiel would never have believed existed. “In the main campus. All the Sororities and Fraternities set up stalls to recruit new Pledges- Oh, that’s probably where all the Psi Delta Alpha boys are, right?”

 

She glances up at Cas, smiling. Castiel just blinks at her. “Spring rush… has already begun?”

 

“Yeah!” She exclaims, looking excited. “Of course! Theta Phi are having their first big event later on – a dinner party for our new Pledges! Obviously we can’t have a party because-”

 

“Kappa Sigma are having a party.” Castiel finishes for her, his blood draining from his face.

 

Anna side-eyes him, looking a little suspicious. Castiel tries a reassuring smile. “Bartholomew… mentioned it. So, my brother, Dean and Luke and everyone are down at the Recruitment Fair right now?”

 

If anything, Anna just looks even more troubled once Cas says this. “No, Castiel… I would think that all the guys on the football team are in practice right now.”

 

Castiel nods, trying to look like he understands why Anna’s acting like he should already know this. “Right. Of course.”

 

“You know…” Anna continues slowly, her brow creasing. “Considering tonight is the night of the big game? With the NFL talent scout coming to observe?”

_What?!_ Castiel has to try really hard not to let the shock of this information show on his face. How the Hell does he not know this?! How does Anna Milton know this information and not him, Castiel, the boyfriend of the _captain_ of the team?!

 

The fact Dean didn’t tell him this is not only shocking, it’s hurtful. Castiel is well-aware that he and Dean have been going through a rough time but this is vitally important! The knowledge of the pressure Dean was under might have meant certain arguments could have been avoided, Cas could have supported Dean, cut him some slack – jeez, he can’t believe Dean didn’t tell him!

 

Maybe he just didn’t want Cas there.

 

“Right, yeah, obviously.” Castiel says, nodding again, trying not to sound bitter.

 

Perhaps it’s just as well Dean is busy tonight. Now there’s no chance of Castiel’s plan being interrupted. Even if Dean doesn’t care about his future, he’s not going to let Bobby and the entire team and the entire college down now, for any reason.

 

“Cas…” Anna says, sounding like she’s deliberating whether to say something. “Just… remember what we talked about today, alright? I’ve gotta go. Why don’t you head down to campus later and find Gabe? I know he’s an idiot but he loves you to bits.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.” Castiel replies, shooting her a quick smile.

 

Anna stands up then, leaning over to peck a quick kiss to his cheek. Weirdly, it doesn’t repel him as it normally might have done.

 

“Bye, Cas.” She says, smiling down at him, and then turns to go. “Come find me if you need anything, okay?”

 

“Thanks, Anna.” Castiel makes himself say. “Bye.”

 

He watches her leave the room, her heels clicking across the floor. Right, he thinks, staring into the empty abyss of his mug, trying hard to dispel the fear choking his heart. Time to get ready for a party. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry if this chapter leaves things a bit unclear, hopefully you have some understanding of what's going on, and if not - the next chapter will clear everything up! Let me know your thoughts guys, and as always, I'm sorry it's late D: xxx


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEARTACHE & HEARTBREAK
> 
> Get a fluffy pillow ready, folks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, late again! I can feel you all tapping your wristwatches, staring at me, impatient and ticked off. I'm sorry. Really. Good news though - this is the penultimate chapter. Extra good news, the final chapter is almost complete! There is literally no excuse for it not being up in the next few days so tap those wristwatches more and glare harder. 
> 
> Also, this chapter turned out to be horrifyingly difficult to write for some reason. I literally was up till 4am editing last night and I still didn't get it done before now! 
> 
> Anyway, here it is, halfway decent haha. Kidding, I think I like how it turned out though prepare for feels. 
> 
> Thanks as always, faithful readers. Nearly there now. Love to you all xxx

**Castiel Novak**  
Gabe, I know you’re at the   
Recruitment Fair but I need a  
favour.

 

**The Trickster :{D**

You should get down here bro!  
We’re luring the Freshers in  
with candy necklaces ;)

What’s this favour? Isn’t my   
brotherly love a favour in  
itself?

 

 **Castiel Novak**  
I’m serious. I need you to come  
to the Kappa Sigma party in an  
hour to take Sam home.

 

 **The Trickster :{D**  
Woah, hold on. You’re going to  
the Kappa Sigma party??? You  
do know that every single one  
of those guys want your bf’s  
head on a stick right?

 

 **Castiel Novak**  
I need to get Sam away from  
them.

 

 **The Trickster :{D**  
Last I heard (from you), Crappa  
Sigma are Sam’s new besties!  
Even if I did show up there in  
an hour, how are you planning  
on making him come quietly?

 

 **Castiel Novak  
** Leave that to me.

 

 **The Trickster :{D**  
This is a bad plan. Let’s talk   
properly.

**(3) Missed calls from The Trickster :{D…**

**The Trickster :{D  
** Damn it Cassy, pick up!

 

 **Castiel Novak  
** Please be there in an hour.

 

 **The Trickster :{D**  
I need more info on this, bro!  
Are you gonna be safe? What  
exactly are you planning?

 

 **The Trickster :{D  
** Cassy?!?!?

 

* * *

 

 

Every step Cas takes towards the Kappa Sigma frat house is a further plunge into sickening despair. He barely breathes, listening intently for the sound of running footsteps behind him, for someone begging him to stop, to turn back and forget this whole ridiculous idea. It's a selfish want, because he purposefully put everyone off the scent of his plan. The success of his plan _depends_ on no one being able to stop him before he follows through. But nevertheless, a part of him strains to hear those footsteps. 

 

He hears nothing, as predicted. Fraternity Row is eerily quiet today, what with everyone being at the Recruitment Fair or busy with their own Spring Rush events. 

 

It's not long before Cas can see the building up ahead, its white letters standing proudly on the grass in front. He’s never been inside before, but he’s relatively sure that all these Frat houses look more or less the same. Big, wide, dominating pillars. Intimidatingly symmetrical architecture. Practically mini mansions. 

 

When he approaches the house, he stands outside for a moment, just staring up at it, heart in his throat. The sun is setting behind it, casting an enormous shadow that engulfs Castiel as he stands before it, small and insignificant, trying to steel himself for the avalanche of shit that's about to cascade down.

 

Well, he thinks, taking the first step forwards, he's always suspected that he and Dean were too good to be true. It’s for the greater good. This way, Dean can be happy. Because Sam will be happy.

 

He'll learn to be happy again without Cas. It'd be far worse if he had to try and be happy knowing Sam was in Hell. 

 

And hey, maybe one day Dean will forgive him for doing this. Maybe he'll understand, eventually. Not that Castiel ever hopes Dean will take him back, not if his plan is successful. But maybe, if he's lucky, he won't have to spend forever with the knowledge Dean hates him. 

 

It's a small comfort, but it's all he's got. 

 

As he walks up the short path, Castiel expects to hear voices, shouting, blaring music. That's the sort of thing he's experienced with parties before. But as he approaches, eyes darting about himself warily, heart in his throat, he notices that the windows are dark and the front door is closed. He climbs up the few stone steps, near shaking with trepidation. He stares ahead of himself. Even the front door, shadowed and grey in the low light, looks intimidating. Castiel shifts from foot to foot, uneasily.

 

He tries to breathe slowly, tries to think of calm, still waters. Rustling trees. Long, aimless drives along deserted roads. Dean's lazy, good morning smile. His heart aches. He raises his hand, and knocks.

 

As soon as he does it his throat closes, his heart begins to pound. His palms sweat, making his hands cold and clammy. He clenches them by his sides in disgust. He can hear faint voices coming from inside now, and he swallows so forcefully that it's a little painful. 

 

The voices grow louder, and Cas thinks he makes out the word 'door'. Before he can strain to listen further, the door is pulled open, and it takes all of Cas's willpower not to just bolt. There, in the doorway, stands a bored looking teenager with a face full of acne and a Kappa Sigma hoodie draped over his skinny body. He studies Cas for a moment, looking him up and down, then raises his eyebrows and smirks.

 

“Yo, Al!” He yells over his shoulder.

 

Oh God, Castiel thinks, he's calling Alaistair already. He thought maybe he’d be able to speak to Sam quickly first, even if only for a minute, to try and get him to leave before-

 

“What?!” Alaistair’s voice calls back, sounding pissy and irritable.

 

Cas swallows, utterly terrified suddenly; he can feel the tips of his nerves fraying. He peers past the skinny boy into the dark entrance hall, confused to see that there are no party-goers milling about. It's empty. This is the weirdest party Cas has ever seen, that's for sure. 

 

It’s only 6:45, Cas supposes, but the lack of natural light in this house is frankly quite eerie. Where are all their windows? Have they just blacked them all out? That's the creepiest thing Cas has ever seen, and he lived with Gabriel for most of his life. 

 

It's only then that Castiel realises the skinny teen never answered Alaistair's call, which explains the footsteps that suddenly approach, growing louder. Cas tries to steel himself. He tries to channel Dean, who would laugh at how scared Cas is right now. Nothing intimidates him. How Dean would greet Alaistair? A cocky grin? A ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ glare? Most likely, he'd just stare levelly, cool and imposing just because of who he is. 

 

He tries it, squaring his shoulders and sticking his chin out. The skinny guy looks at him strangely. Alaistair appears suddenly, a grimace set atop his prominent chin. He's glaring at the acne-covered boy, and Cas feels his resolve crumbling. He can’t pretend he’s not totally fucking terrified right now. Alaistair is a scary guy. There's just a sadistic air about him. It's easy to see that he gets off on stuff like this, what he does to his Pledge's, what he's going to do to Sam. 

 

It takes a few seconds of Alaistair drilling a bullet-hole gaze into the side of the other guy’s head before he even notices Cas standing there. The moment he sees him, his face lights up, eyes brightening, and he smiles, slow and cruel. 

 

“Well, well.” Alaistair says, eyes roving up and down Cas’s body. “Wouldn't'a believed Bart if I weren't seein' the evidence with my own two eyes."

 

Cas’s eyes dart to the floor. It's best not to say anything for now. Later, that's when he can unleash his real tactics. 

 

“Well come on in." Alaistair says, his smirk flavouring his words. "Welcome to our little 'rush party'. Lemme show you around, pal.” 

 

Castiel’s eyes flick up again at the word ‘pal’. His mind rejects it with a force that startles him. He has to actively stop the vehement denial of any association whatsoever with Alaistair King before it bursts free from his lips. Instead he just swallows, nodding. He moves forwards into the space Alaistair creates for him by elbowing the skinny boy out of the way, crossing the threshold into the Kappa Sigma frat house for the first time.  He tries not to flinch when the door is closed behind him.

 

He's busy looking around himself, noting the thick blinds covering all of the high windows above him, when Alaistair slings an arm around his shoulders. It's so disconcerting that Castiel really does flinch, though Alaistair either doesn't notice or chooses to ignore it. 

 

“Ahh, Castiel.” Alaistair says, jostling his shoulders as he walks them forwards into the darkness, towards a faint glow of light in the distance, leaking out of a room Castiel can't yet see. "You don't know how happy it makes me to see you here."

 

Castiel stays quiet, just letting himself be led further into this Hell, trying to pry away the parts of him that are still clutching for what he’s left behind.

 

“Because you being here,” Alaistair continues as they approach the room, which he swerves them into very quickly. “It  _must_ mean that you’ve finally come to your senses. Seen the light, et cetera."

 

Castiel stops in his tracks when he enters, staring at the scene before him in mild horror. The room is almost a perfect replica of the Psi Delta Alpha living area, though the furniture is different. There are four couches, each with a group of Kappa Sigma boys squashed onto it in various positions, some clutching beers, some smoking, filling the air with a fug of stale smoke. Cas runs his gaze over each of them, catching the eyes of Bart, Balthazar and for some reason Meg Masters, in turn. They all sneer and smile; Cas looks sharply away. The couches are all pointed at the centre of the room, where a group of dining chairs have been arranged in a circle. On the chairs sit some very young, very frightened boys, one or two of which have crude messages scrawled on their foreheads.

 

What the heck is going on here? At that moment, Castiel spots Sam, not on the chairs, but crushed, almost invisible, in between some much larger frat boys, on one of the couches. He stares straight at Cas, eyes like saucers. He looks bewildered at Cas's presence, not unsurprisingly. 

 

"Look fellas!" Alaistair cries suddenly, making Cas forget Sam for a second. "Got ourselves another human sacrifice!"

 

The Kappa Sigma's laugh uproariously, and the young boys in the chairs just look round at each other, nervous.

 

Alaistair turns to Cas, then laughs at his expression. "Relax, Novak. Just kidding around." He grins at the room again, clapping Cas on the back. "Nah, he's just realised the truth! Psi Delta Alpha is old news, washed up. He's moved on to bigger and better things.” Castiel still says nothing, though he turns to face Alaistair, watching him carefully. “Just like our soon-to-be Pledges here, right guys?”

 

The kids on the chairs murmur quietly, still looking about anxiously. Some of them nod fervently, clearly petrified. Ah, Cas thinks, staring at them with a newly-found pity. These kids are the poor suckers who are considering rushing Kappa Sigma? Fuck, they're not even the existing Pledge's and they already look terrified. How is this sort of treatment going to convince them to pledge the fraternity? Castiel is no expert in the way fraternities are run, but he's pretty sure the whole point of 'rush' is to get the potential Pledge's interested. Not to scare them out of their wits. 

 

“I'd like to speak to Sam." Castiel says, his voice a little croaky because all the moisture seems to have left his mouth since he walked in the door. 

 

Several of the frat boys snicker and nudge Sam, who just crooks a false looking smile, and continues watching Cas, looking concerned. Alaistair stares at Cas in surprise, as though not expecting him to talk, and then he smirks. "There'll be plenty o'time for talking later on." He says firmly, a mildly threatening tone hidden beneath the surface of his voice. "I’d rather focus on you for now, stringbean.”

 

Castiel swallows, but doesn’t let himself look away from Alaistair’s gaze. 

 

"I'll focus on him from back here!" Bart calls out, sniggering along with some others. Cas's stomach twists and curls in disgust, but he doesn't let himself turn round. 

 

This whole environment is toxic. Torturing and mentally scarring young boys, objectifying perfect strangers, degrading others for entertainment - and that's just scratching the surface, Cas is sure; he curses himself yet again for not getting Sam out of here sooner.

 

“Fine.” Cas spits in response to Alaistair’s earlier statement. He takes a deep breath, looking to Sam quickly to draw up some courage. That's who he's doing this to save. That sweet, innocent young minor, corrupted by an evil group of ignorant, machismo wannabe's. He turns back to Alaistair. “I’m here because I want to Pledge this fraternity.”

 

He can hear Sam's squeak of surprise even from across the room, along with a shocked gasp from who he assumes is Meg. He doesn't look over at either of them, just listening to the sniggers that erupt around the room. 

 

Alaistair chuckles long and loud, stepping forwards into the centre of the room, meeting the eyes of several other Kappa Sigma’s, exchanging loaded stares that Castiel both wishes and doesn't wish he could decipher. Alaistair gets to one of the boys on the chairs and threads a hand through his mop of hair, still chuckling. Without warning, he suddenly grips hold, his fist clenching around the hairs, and he yanks the kid's head backwards, making him yelp in surprise. 

 

"Whaddya think, fuckface?" Alaistair asks the kid, staring down at him. "Should we get him another chair?" 

 

“On one condition.” Castiel says quickly, hoping to distract Alaistair, to make him release his hold on that poor boy, who had no idea what he was in for when he entered this house today. Alaistair raises an eyebrow at him, his jaw twitching in annoyance. He lets go of the kid in order to fold his arms, waiting. “You leave Sam alone.”

 

 

Alaistair smirks. “What makes you think we’re doing anything to him? Sammy's here of his own free will.” Cas glances at Sam at the same time Alaistair does. "Right, Sammy?"

 

Sam shrugs, glancing at the huge guys dwarfing him and nodding, taking a sip of the can of beer in his hands. Cas frowns at it, knowing Dean would hate to see Sam drinking in these circumstances. Unsupervised, with a bunch of guys that encourage the worst in people. 

 

Castiel ignores Sam's response, knowing it means nothing. Just like these kids displayed in the centre of the room, Sam is being judged for his every word, his every action. As if anyone could believe a word Sam said right now, under this sort of coercion. He's noticed something amiss, Cas is sure of it. He's not a bad kid, he must know that exhibitioning and torturing your would-be Pledge's is in the category of Not Okay. 

 

He steps forwards, meeting Alaistair in the centre of the room, and smirks right back in his face, unfazed by his stupid excuses. He will get Sam out of this. He knows he will. It won't even be that hard now, because the look in Sam's eyes tells him he wants to escape. 

 

“I know what you're doing to him.” Castiel hisses. “I know you’re buttering him up, giving him the time of his life just so he’ll sign his soul over to you." Alaistair's eyes narrow, and pleasure courses through Cas's veins at the sight, short lived as it is. "I know you only want him in this poor excuse for a fraternity so you can dangle his mutilated, broken-down shell in front of Dean next year." Sam sucks in a breath then, and Castiel looks over at him briefly, seeing the terror in his eyes as he realises the truth in Cas's words. Cas tries to wordlessly convey that he's taking care of it, that he won't let it happen. He doesn't know if any of it's getting through. He turns back to Alaistair, who stares at him, teeth gritted. "I won’t stand for it." Castiel says, feeling righteous now, like a vigilante, fighting for the innocent. "Sam is  _good._ I'm offering myself to you, as a Pledge, but in exchange you have to back the fuck off him.”

 

"Here's the thing, kiddo." Alaistair spits, turning and sizing up to Cas, pulling his attention back. "You come in here begging me to let you in to the soon-to-be hottest fraternity on campus. And who can blame you? Winchester's slacking in his old age. He's a fucking bore, these days." Alaistair grins at him, studying him closely for signs he broke through Cas's shell, that he affected him by slating Dean. Of course, every instinct in Cas's body flares up in defence of the boy he loves, but he knows to keep it quiet. "And then you have the  _audacity_  to attach a 'condition' to your little plea? What even makes you think we'd want you in the first place, huh? Why is havin' you instead of Sammy fuckin' Winchester a fair deal?" 

 

 

"Oh, it's a fair deal." Bart pipes up, and Cas closes his eyes, swallowing down what feels and tastes like bile. 

 

When he opens his eyes, Alaistair is having a wordless conversation with Bart, which ends with a smirk on Bart's end, and an eye roll on Alaistair's. Bart glances over at Cas, winking. Castiel looks away again, unable to hold his gaze for more than a second, knowing what's coming. Instead, he looks over at Sam. The younger Winchester looks so scared. He looks much younger than he is, tiny in comparison to the huge, lounging frat boys surrounding him. 

 

It gives Cas courage, somehow. This kid is basically Dean junior. He has Dean's blood in his veins. He has Dean's love surrounding him, a protective bubble. Cas has to save him. He has to protect him, for Dean. 

 

“But see,” Alaistair says, his mouth twisting into a frown. “When we get down to it, I wanna see Winchester _wrecked."_  Castiel continues watching Sam, seeing the fear in his eyes creep through his whole body, tensing his muscles.  _"_ I wanna have him curled on the floor, weeping like the little girl he is. My original plan to torture Sammy here,” he grins over at Sam, winking, leaving him horrified, “in front of Dean-o for a year – that oughtta do it.” The crowd chuckles, because apparently the image of a seventeen year old boy forced into doing God-knows-what in front of his own brother his hilarious.

 

“But...” Sam pipes up, face draining of colour as he sees Alaistair fix him with a glare. “Why would I pledge you guys now? I could just... pledge another fraternity, I could just...”

 

Sam trails off as Alaistair walks forwards, placing a nonchalant hand on the shoulder of one of the boys in the centre of the room. "Hmm." Alaistair says, smirking happily at Sam, and the younger Winchester suddenly ducks his head, filled with despair. "Yeah, I wonder why you would ever pledge us..."

 

The boy Alaistair is touching lets out a small whimper, and Cas raises his eyebrows, shocked to see tears rolling down his face. All of a sudden, this whole situation clicks into sense in Cas's brain. Kappa Sigma's big plan to become the biggest frat on campus, to beat Psi Delta Alpha with their number of Pledge's - it's blackmail. They're threatening these kids. They're not luring them in with candy necklaces like Psi Delta Alpha are, they're displaying them in the centre of a room to jeer and laugh at, and threatening those that dare try to back out now. This is what this 'party' is. This is what Sam has literally just been subjected to.  

 

Everyone in here, including Sam, knows what happens to those nearly-Pledge's that try to escape the rush now. Alaistair probably laid it all out for these poor suckers in the middle just before Cas arrived. Cas bets he knows exactly what he said, too. Because the fact is, Kappa Sigma are big, powerful and terrifying.

 

Sure, they don’t have control over the football team like Psi Delta Alpha do, but they have almost as many members, which are planted in societies all over campus. It’s impossible to avoid running into them, as Cas well knows. A few times, especially recently, he’s run into a boy with a Kappa Sigma insignia somewhere on his being and had to pick up his pace in order to avoid being pounded, molested or worse.

 

The fact is, Cas thinks, if Kappa Sigma don’t like you, it is fully within their power as the second largest fraternity to make your life a living Hell. Castiel has only managed to escape the brunt of it because, hatred for his boyfriend or not, they still know that Dean could beat them to a pulp.

 

Sam, of course, wouldn't be so lucky, were he to back out now of his own volition. He knows it too. He’s in too deep now. Dean won't be around next year and Sam has already been accepted into this college, he can’t go anywhere else. If he starts next fall and doesn’t Pledge Kappa Sigma, they’ll make his life miserable until he does.

 

This is why Cas's plan needs to move the fuck forward, before things get anywhere near that far. 

 

“So, like I was saying,” Alaistair says, moving away from the crying boy, "having Sammy as a Pledge is a pretty win-win situation for me. But if I torture _you,”_ Alaistair says, jabbing a finger in Cas's chest, hurting him a little, “would the Winchester jock-strap even bat an eyelid? Far as I’ve heard… you’re not much more than his fucktoy.”

 

Castiel winces, knowing Sam will have heard that. His cheeks flame but he forces himself to say nothing. He can practically feel Sam’s eyes on him, and it's downright humiliating. 

 

“Come on, can you blame the guy?” Someone shouts from behind Castiel, sounding a lot like Bart. "The kid's fucking hot." 

 

The room dissolves into laughter, and Castiel just stares straight ahead, into Alaistair's ice chip eyes. He grits his teeth, preparing himself for his final card, the trick up his sleeve, the one thing he has that could possibly save Sam, make everything okay. 

 

It's going to take some serious acting on his part, but he's been preparing himself all day. Longer, even. He's been preparing for this moment since he and Bart spoke last. He practiced in the mirror, alone in his room, saying the words over and over until he could spit them out without choking, breaking down or crying. Heck, he even tested his lying skills on Dean this morning, before he left. Thinking of that moment stings, and he tries to push the memory aside. Later, he can dwell, wallow in his sadness. Right now, he has a part to play.

 

He smirks at Alaistair, letting his eyes fall halfway closed. He turns to Bart, crossing the stream of Sam's horrified gaze on his way, but ignoring it. He winks, smirking at the guy, who grins, sitting up a little.

 

"Being your Pledge is not all I’m offering.” Castiel says, letting his voice drawl. He keeps the smirk on his face, despite feeling the last of his dignity draining away, pooling at his feet, soaked up by the stained carpet. He feels his fingernails digging into his cold, damp palm.

 

Alaistair watches him carefully, with a smug grin on his face. 

 

“Oh?” Alaistair asks, feigning ignorance. He must know what Cas is about to say. He must. There's no way Bart didn't tell him.

 

He's just pleasuring himself by forcing Cas to say the words aloud, right here in front of the whole frat. In front of  _Sam_ for Christ's sake. Castiel feels his stomach churning. Bile crawls up his throat again but he swallows it down, keeping the flirty look on his face as far as he can. 

 

Castiel takes another deep breath before actually speaking the words. He thinks of Dean, God help him. He wishes that there could have been another way. He wishes that Dean didn’t grow up without a Mom. He wishes that his Dad didn’t wound him so badly that he’s twenty-one and afraid to enjoy any form of happiness. Castiel wishes that he could have been enough for Dean, could have healed every scar he keeps hidden inside himself. He wishes Dean could see a future for them. He wishes he had cherished every moment he lay stupidly happy in Dean’s arms. He wishes he could turn on his heel, walk out the door, find Dean and curl up in them now.

 

He wishes and wants a lot of things.

 

But there’s only one way out of the mess they’re all in now. And it's up to Cas to do it. 

 

“Bartholomew and I…” Castiel begins, smiling in faux shyness, biting his lip for effect. “Have an arrangement.”

 

The reaction is instantaneous. The Kappa Sigma's cheer and wolf-whistle, they hurl derogatory comments at Cas, they clap and jostle Bart, praising him for his successful conquest.

 

It’s all so grotesque. It’s abhorrent. Castiel wishes Sam could be spared from the sight. He glances back at the younger Winchester, unable to stop himself, and at the look on Sam's face, he wishes he hadn't. The kids looks saddened, face clouded with guilt and a thin layer of disgust. Sam looks towards Bart, clearly repulsed by him. 

 

Cas knows Sam is clever. He suspects that Sam is well aware of the reasons Cas is doing this, which explains the guilt in his expression. There's no denying that this is, in part, Sam's fault. Though Cas doesn't blame him. He's just a kid, after all. 

 

Cas too has been coerced and manipulated in his time. For the first part of their relationship, Dean held Cas like a puppet on a string. He had total power over Cas, because Cas was young and foolish and hopelessly, madly in love. Though thankfully, the manipulation and mistreatment he received turned into the happiest period of his life, eventually. 

 

For Sam, unfortunately, it was different. He learned his lesson in a much harsher way. The people that took advantage of him never cared about him like Dean secretly cared about Cas. They just used him as a tool to get to Dean. No, Cas doesn't blame Sam at all.

 

Suddenly, there's a knock at the door, and like instinct, or some kind of family telepathy, Castiel just knows it's Gabriel. His shoulders sag in relief. 

 

"Sam!" Alaistair shouts, sounding annoyed about the interruption. "Get that."

 

And Sam has no choice. Castiel knows it. Sam stands up and crosses the room, his eyes pleading with Cas to forgive him for leaving even as he walks to the door. Castiel closes his eyes, relaxing at last. Gabriel will take care of Sam. He'll take him home, just like Cas asked. And Sam will go with him now, Cas is sure.

 

Cas has done it. Sam is safe. 

 

Well, not quite yet, he supposes. There's one more thing left to do. 

 

As if he hears that thought, Bart gets to his feet, swaying a little, drunkenly. He crosses over to Cas, taking a second to tease and prod at the boys still sat on their chairs in the centre, flinching from his touch. Castiel watches him warily, heart thudding because this is it now, there's no more build up. There he is, right in front of him, huge and grinning and the subject of every one of Cas's nightmares.

 

If he does this, if he just gets through it, then everything will be okay. Well, not everything - not _him_  - but Dean and Sam, they'll be fine. That's what really matters. Cas is just the misfit freshman that waltzed into the Winchester's lives and fucked everything up. It's only fair that he's the one who has to make the sacrifice. 

 

He watches Bart, listening to the encouraging shouts and whoops from his brothers. His approach is slow. A jungle cat stalking and cornering its prey. He watches Cas for a second, licking his lips like he's preparing to tuck in, and then he lunges, grabbing Cas by the waist and yanking them together, chest to chest.

 

The Kappa Sigma's cheer, and before Castiel knows what’s happening, there are lips on his, wet and slimy, tasting of beer and cigarettes. Bart kisses him with such force it’s scary; Castiel tries to keep his mouth clamped shut, but Bart's tongue seemingly everywhere, and Castiel turns his face away, horrified.

 

Bart doesn’t seem to particularly care that Castiel ends the kiss, he just soaks up the praise the crowd of Kappa Sigma’s lavishes onto him, not letting go of Cas’s waist for a second. 

 

Castiel wants to cry, he wants to be sick, to find Dean and beg him for forgiveness, even though he and Bart have barely done anything yet. He holds back the tears that sting his ducts with effort he should receive a medal for, and turns as far as he can in Bart's hold to face Alaistair, who is watching the scene unfold, still smug.

 

“Do we have a deal?” Castiel hisses at him, unheard by the rest of the Kappa's.

 

“Guys!” Alaistair yells over the crowd, quieting them. “Think you can spread the word to Winchester that you _personally witnessed_ his own little piece of ass happily agreeing to fuck the shit out of our own Bartholomew Harrington?”

 

“Yeah!” Shout the Kappa's, smashing their beers against each other in triumph, and Castiel’s stomach turns.

 

He feels the lump in his throat doubling in size. He needs to be sick. He needs air, a fluffy pillow, _something._ He presses his fingernails into his own palm again, hoping to draw blood.

 

Alaistair leans down to whisper in Cas’s ear. “Then yes, whore. Expect your bid in the mail in one to two weeks. Welcome to Kappa Sigma.”

 

Castiel wants to die. He’d rather the ground swallowed him up whole than hear that phrase ever again, but instead he turns, meeting Bart's leer head-on. It's then that he feels himself being lifted, hauled over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He just goes with it, at this point. How can it get any more embarrassing, after all? He might as well get used to humiliation. He's got a year of it ahead of him. 

 

Christ. A Kappa Sigma Pledge. Castiel runs the phrase over and over in his mind as he thumps against Bart's back, being carried down the hall. He tries to attach the phrase to himself, but it doesn't want to stick. How did this become his life? 

 

Bart slows down a short way down the corridor, and Castiel's heart begins a desperate attempt to flee from his body. What's worse, he thinks to himself, being a Kappa Sigma Pledge for a year, or whatever Bart is about to do to him? 

 

Castiel can tell that half the Kappa Sigma's have followed them down the corridor. It's unsurprising, really. They want a show. Half of them probably want to see it for themselves. The blood drains from Cas's face. God, he hopes that's not what he signed on for, here. He can't handle doing this in front of people. It's bad enough that he has to experience it, let alone anyone else. 

 

Bart sets him down, then, outside a closed door. In the Psi Delta Alpha house, this is where the bathroom is located, Cas thinks, staring at the door. Bart smirks at him, opening it with a flourish. 

 

Sure enough, it's a bathroom. No cleaner than the one in Dean's house either. Rusty sink, grimy bath and shower. Toilet in the corner with no seat. It's ghastly to behold, quite honestly, and Castiel just blinks at it, bewildered. Is Bart asking if he needs to go? 

 

"Your boudoir, m'lady." Bartholomew says, gesturing inside with a smirk. Castiel stares, mouth falling open a little. 

 

For fuck's sake, he thinks. Just when this couldn't get any more degrading. Castiel did assume that there would at least be a  _bed_ for this disgusting 'deal' to take place. A fucking  _bathroom_? What, does Bart not want Cas to see his room? Is he literally just doing this to humiliate Cas as much as possible? 

 

Castiel suspects the latter. It makes sense, really. He's basically a Pledge now, after all. 

 

So Cas steps inside, biting his lip to suppress the tears. Someone wolf-whistles as Bart follows behind him, pushing Cas a little way further into the bathroom, and closing the door. He locks it, and Castiel wants to cry again. 

 

“Finally.” Bart says, the fluorescent lights in here making him appear alien and distorted; Castiel suppresses a scream. “I’ve got you alone.”

 

* * *

 

 

 **Anna Milton**  
Hey Dean, so I’m super  
sorry for the paranoid text  
but I’m really really worried  
about Cas. I swung by the  
PDA house earlier bcos I  
was fretting about Sam  
(lots of worrying for one day I  
know haha). Anyway I talked  
to Cas and he said some  
SCARY things. Stuff about  
how he can stop KS from  
getting to Sam by… making  
a sort of ‘deal’ with Bart. I  
mean by the time I left it  
seemed like I’d changed his  
mind but… idk I’ve been  
running the convo around  
in my mind and… I’m not so  
sure now. I don’t know how  
much you know about any of  
this and it’s hard to explain  
over text and you might not  
even SEE this because it’s  
your big game night and pls  
believe me I wouldn’t have  
said anything if I wasn’t  
extremely concerned. God this  
is rambly. Ok I’ve said my bit,   
I’m hosting a Spring Rush   
event tonight but just ring me  
if you wanna talk about this or  
w/e.  
Anna xx

 

(Message read 19:46pm.)

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel tries to imagine he’s somewhere else. Beforehand, it was the only solution he could come up with that he thought might prevent him from vomiting mid-way through. It’s hardly helping, though.

 

The place he imagines, his go-to happy place, is a tranquil garden with tiny, colourful kites scoring the endless blue sky. He tries to conjure up the image like he always does, but the awful sound of Bart’s grunting fills his ears, splintering the cobalt sky apart, fracturing his dream-place into a thousand pieces.

 

Bart’s hands slide down his shirt, gripping his waist, then tugging hard at the buttons. He feels Bart’s mouth on his, kissing insistently, pressing him back against the sink.

 

Cas can’t move from his position, he's totally pinned. Bart is pressed against him, his mouth relentless, his hands like wandering tentacles, knowing no bounds, sliding over every place on Cas’s body. It’s nothing like all of the times he’s been in similar positions with Dean. When Dean has him like this it’s exciting, it’s sexy and Cas wants it so much, so he is putty in Dean’s hands.

 

In comparison, Bart is disgusting. He’s a leech, sucking Castiel’s soul out through his mouth, scarily strong, the feel of him too bulky, too clumsy, too different. If Cas opens his eyes, he sees Bart's face, blurry and too close to focus on, but it's there, so obviously not Dean that he wants to scream, wants to fight and cry and struggle, not that it would probably do a lot. Bart's made it all too clear that he doesn't really have any qualms about touching when it's unwanted, or worse. 

 

 

Besides all of that, Castiel knows he has to let this happen. He knows that he offered himself, and now, if he wants Kappa Sigma to back off Sam, he has to follow through. But it's hard. It's hard because Bart is so not Dean, and every single movement, every touch of his lips or fingers reminds him of this fact, and that he might never know Dean's touch again. 

 

Bart breaks away from his lips, leaning back slightly to grin at Castiel, practically a sneer. “Having fun, angel?”

 

Castiel chokes around the bile forcing its way up his throat yet again, burning him until his eyes brim with tears. How does Bart even know about that nickname? Did he say it on purpose? Is he trying to make this harder than it already is? Probably, Cas reasons. He's probably punishing Cas for making him wait this long. A tear spills over onto Castiel’s cheek, and Bart sees it immediately, tutting. He brings his thumb up to wipe it away, leaning in close.

 

“Don’t worry.” He whispers, and Castiel shuts his eyes, praying this will be over soon, that it will be quick. “I’ll make you forget all about him.”

 

Bart’s fingers slip the buttons through the holes in Castiel’s shirt one by one, agonisingly slow, his eyes boring into Cas's the whole time, revelling in how helpless he is to the advances.

 

Bart must know how he hates this. Cas told him the truth, after all. Back on that deserted street, he told Bart that he loves Dean, that he wants to be with him. It doesn't matter that Cas lied to the other Kappa Sigma's, might've fooled some of them with his flirty smiles. Bart knows the truth. He knows that Cas is aching to go back to Dean. Cas watches the slow smirk spreading on his face as he undoes the last button, leaving Cas's shirt hanging open, his chest exposed. And he's getting off on it.

 

Bart’s hands smooth over his chest immediately, sliding around his waist and up, over his back as he drags him forwards for another kiss.

 

It all happens very quickly after that. The commotion outside doesn’t bother Cas at first. He assumes it’s the Kappa Sigmas, waiting to taunt and tease once this is all over. Even when the shouting gets louder, Cas doesn’t try to listen or distinguish voices and words.

 

Bart is whispering at him anyway, his mouth right by Cas's ear, informing him of every filthy, sordid thing he has planned, and it’s too horrifying to focus on anything else.

 

But suddenly, the door is shaking, someone pounding against it from the other side. Castiel’s eyes widen and they both look over at it, shocked. Castiel grips the sink with both hands as Bart steps away from him, squaring up to it. There's a pound, louder this time, fiercer, and then another, then one more, and suddenly the door bursts open, one of the hinges skidding across the tile.

 

Right there stands Dean, panting a little from the exertion of _breaking the fucking door down_ no doubt, Cas thinks. He swallows, eyes wide and terrified. Fuck, what is he doing here? He shouldn't be here! He shouldn't know this is happening! He shouldn't know until later. Fuck, this is not how things were supposed to go. 

 

Dean pushes his way inside, his face furious, his fists clenched.

 

He takes in the sight before him in two glances, one at Cas, his shirt open, his mouth spit-slicked and red, and one at Bart, hovering in the centre of the room, shoulders tensed, feet apart in a fighting stance, though he looks suddenly a little unsure. 

 

“Oh, you’re fucking dead.” Dean hisses.

 

Castiel has never seen him look like this. His face is red, and a single vein protrudes on his forehead, pulsing angrily. His teeth are gritted so tightly Cas can practically hear the screech of them grinding together.

 

A second passes, and then Dean is striding over to Bart, grabbing him by the shirt. He lifts him easily off the floor, even with Bart struggling and pounding his fists against Dean's arms. Dean ignores every punch, and slams him against the far wall, shattering the mirror behind him, sending it smashing to the floor. Cas flinches at the noise. 

 

“What’d you think, that I wouldn’t find out?” Dean asks, his voice echoing off the tile, reverberating around the room. Cas glances over at the door, noticing that the other Kappa Sigma's have gathered in the doorway to watch now. They all look shellshocked, the laughter having died on their lips. None of them try to help their 'brother', Cas notes, hating them all that little bit more. Some fraternity. “Did you think you could take me, is that it?” Dean waits, apparently expecting an answer, but Bart stays silent. Dean shakes him, still furious, banging his head against the wall. “Answer me! Why the fuck did you think you could put your hands on him?!”

 

Castiel feels more tears slip down his cheeks. Still, even now, in the face of everything, Dean blames someone else for what Cas has done.

 

The room is quiet, almost sharp with tension as everyone waits for Bart to speak. Dean growls quietly, a warning. 

 

“Cause, Winchester,” Bart hisses, out of nowhere, apparently having found a speck of backbone somewhere in the dregs of his being, “the way he looked at me? The way he strutted around, showing off like the little slut he is? Shit, he was _begging_ me for it.” The words shock Cas, making the tips of his ears burn, humiliated. Do these people really think this about him? God, he feels _repugnant._ There are only milliseconds to register the sly grin on Bart’s face before Dean brings his fist back and slams it into Bart’s cheekbone, hard enough that he falls to the floor.

 

Hard enough that he doesn’t get back up again.

 

Dean lunges for him, grabbing him by the collar again, though anyone could see that Bart is out cold. Dean straddles the guy's waist, and Cas watches, horrified, as Dean’s hand clenches into a fist again, ready to strike, to smite, maybe to hospitalise. He has to do something.

 

“Dean,” Cas croaks out, jumping forwards, crouching beside both boys in order to catch hold of Dean’s fist, stopping it in its tracks. “Dean, don’t.”

 

It’s only at the first touch of Cas’s hand on his that Dean seems to register Cas is even still there. He blinks at the other boy slowly, his eyes strange and glazed, a white hot fury burning in them that Cas wishes he wasn’t seeing.

 

Castiel forces himself to hold Dean’s gaze, even when the tears burn his irises. He blinks them away, irritated, and Dean watches them fall down his face. Slowly, Dean starts to lower his fist.

 

He gets to his feet, an unreadable expression on his face, and pulls free of Cas’s grasp. Castiel stands too, unsure of what’s happening, pulling his shirt tails around himself, to shield his bare chest from view. He doesn’t know why he bothers. It’s only Dean after all.

 

Slowly, carefully, Dean starts to walk to the door, his movements awkward and tense, as though he’s restraining himself, or forcing himself to leave. The crowd of Kappa Sigma spectators part for Dean as he approaches, stepping readily out of his way, some of their hands raised in surrender, as though terrified they'll be next. 

 

When Dean gets to the doorway, he stops, turning back to look Cas in the eye.

 

“Are you coming?” He asks, and by the tone of his voice, Castiel can tell Dean genuinely doesn’t know. It breaks his heart just that little bit more.

 

He stares back at Dean, longing to just trail along after like he would normally. But what will happen now? How can they come back from this? Castiel _cheated_. His actions were conscious, and he made the decision to do it. Sure, he did it for noble reasons, but it’s not the path to Heaven that’s paved with good intentions.

 

And what of Sam, now? Castiel’s plan has failed because Dean found out before he could follow through on his half of the bargain. Sam will be at the mercy of the Kappa Sigma’s now and there’s nothing any of them can do about it. This was their last hope.

 

Castiel chokes back a sob, still staring at Dean, so lost and confused, waiting for his answer. Did Castiel really just throw away his whole world for nothing?

 

* * *

 

“Alright, explain.” Dean says, his voice flat as he sits down on his bed. Castiel glances at the open door behind him.

 

They're back at the Psi Delta Alpha frat house now. Castiel followed Dean here because he has nowhere else to be, now. His night as he predicted it is in ruins. He might as well just do whatever anyone wants of him. He stares at Dean, feelings of guilt and worthlessness clawing at him from all sides. He has no right to be here, anymore. Castiel doesn't deserve to be in Dean's presence after what he's done. 

 

“Explain?” Castiel echoes quietly, refusing to meet Dean’s gaze.

 

“Yeah, Cas, explain.” Dean reiterates, sounding tetchier now, as though he’s about to explode. “Explain how exactly the situation occurred where you felt like it was acceptable to let Bart fucking Harrington stick his tongue down your throat and damn well nearly fuck you behind a closed door! Cause I’m drawin’ a blank here!”

 

Dean’s cheeks have reddened when Castiel looks up, mildly scared. It’s not the same fear he experienced with Bart, thank goodness. Dean could never make him that afraid. But his is another type of fear welling up in him now. One that stems from the idea he might lose everything.

 

“Dean, I had to…” Castiel starts to say, but he trails off, knowing it’s practically useless. How can he ever make Dean understand? It’s pointless to try.

 

“What?” Dean asks, incredulous. “You _had to_?! That’s your excuse? You _had to_ have sex with him?” Dean pauses for a moment, and Castiel can practically hear the moment Dean’s stomach lurches. “Hold on,” Dean whispers in horror. He gets to his feet slowly, crossing over to Cas, eyes wide, sickened. “Cas, did he… did he force you? Baby, did he…”

 

It's that one word, that smidgen of kindness - an endearment Cas thought he might never get to hear from Dean's lips again. It forces a lump into his throat, it pushes burning hot tears into his eyes. But Cas has to admit the truth. No matter how difficult, how agonising. 

 

Dean trails off as Cas starts to shake his head, mouth pressed together, looking away. Dean spins on his heel, furious again.

 

“Then what the fuck, Cas?!” Dean yells, and Castiel cringes, eyeing the open door behind him.

 

Nobody in the hallway pokes their head out of their door to look. They probably know better than to try. If Cas were any of them he'd be cowering in his room at the sound of Dean's anger, but unfortunately he's not. He's the cause of it.

 

“Seriously, what the fuck? I don’t get it! What, are you doin’ this to get my attention? To get back at me for blamin’ you about all the Sam stuff? Are you tryin’a hurt me, Cas?” Dean turns to him, eyes blazing, pupils blown, and he grabs him by the shoulders, gripping tight. “Cause it fuckin’ worked!”

 

Castiel takes a second to just soak in the pain behind Dean’s expression. Up close like this, it’s clear he’s holding back tears. Cas cringes, biting his lip and trying to avoid Dean's stare. He wasn't supposed to see this part. He wasn't supposed to be witness to the _pain_ he'd cause with his plan. Anger, sure, he can deal with that just about. He knows he deserves every word Dean spits at him, but  _pain_? How is he supposed to just watch the suffering he's caused Dean? He's never loved anyone more in his life. How can he just stand idly by, waiting for Dean to declare it's over for good when Cas can see the agony in his expression? It's torture in its purest form. 

 

Dean’s voice lowers in volume. “I never thought you’d do somethin’ like this." He practically murmurs, and Cas feels the words like knives, sliding into his heart, relentless, ice cold, unforgiving. "Not ever.” Dean ducks his head, dropping his hands from Cas’s shoulders, and sighs. “Just tell me why, Cas. Please.”

 

The tears drip down Cas’s face, practically pouring. He’s so ashamed, so guilty. The filth he feels consuming him is dark and omnipresent. Bart’s touch still clings to his skin like thick, black tar, and he aches to climb into a scalding shower, to scrape at his flesh with his fingernails until it washes away.

 

“I-I did it,” Castiel tries to say, hiccupping around his words, “to save Sam.”

 

Dean scoffs a laugh towards the floor, though he sounds anything but amused. He looks up, clearly disbelieving. “Sam?! What the Hell does he have to do with this, Cas?”

 

“B-Bart said that- that if I…” Castiel swallows around something sharp and bitter. It tastes like blood. He tries to stop himself biting his lips. “…if I s-slept with him he’d… he’d tell Alaistair to leave Sam alone.”

 

Cas doesn’t quite know how he managed to say that aloud. He stares at the floor, his mouth tasting of ash and rust, as though the words themselves are poison.

 

“And you _agreed?!_ ” Dean asks, sounding astounded, appalled. When Castiel looks over at him, he has his face half buried in his hands.

 

Castiel chooses not to reply. It’s pretty fucking obvious that he agreed, after all. Suddenly, Dean lashes out, his fist connecting with the nearest wall, smacking it so hard that the neon ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’ sign smashes to the floor. Castiel jumps, heart thudding.

 

_Dean won't hurt me, Dean won't hurt me, Dean won't hurt me._

 

“Why the fuck didn’t you just _tell_ me this shit, Cas?!” Dean yells, incredulous, staring into Cas’s eyes. “Did you seriously think that you couldn’t? What, were you scared of him? Did you think he’d beat me in a fight?!”

 

Castiel wants to laugh for a second. This is so absurd. Is this what Dean thinks it boils down to? Which frat boy Cas is more afraid of? Bart or Dean? 

 

For a second, his tears are forgotten and he feels a surge of anger rising up within him, powerless to stop it.

 

“There were other things at stake, Dean!” He yells back, surprised at himself. “I was the _only_ one even remotely concerned about Sam, about what the Kappa Sigma’s could do to him. And every time I voiced my concerns you shut me down! You yelled and cursed and told me I was being paranoid.” Castiel takes a breath, watching Dean, making sure the words are sinking in. Dean's teeth are gritted, and his eyes flick from side to side, as though he's searching his brain for a retort. “By the time Bart propositioned me it was too late for anything else. Sam was in too deep, your head was too far up your own ass to see it. There was only one way out.”

 

Dean shakes his head through the last part of Cas’s speech, refusing to hear it. “Bullshit.” He says quietly. Then, louder. “Bullshit! If you’d told me Bart had _threatened_ you, _blackmailed_ you, if you’d told me what he’d said about Sam, of course I would have believed you! God damn it, Cas we could have fixed this!”

 

“Well, according to you it wasn’t broken!” Castiel fires back, angry tears leaking out now, probably making him red, splotchy and ugly. He hardly cares. Dean won’t find him attractive anymore anyway. Not now that he’s gone and done this. He sighs, admitting internal defeat. It’s useless to argue. This is all already over.

 

“Dean…” Castiel starts, his voice a little softer now, his eyes averted. “I never wanted this. I love you. You know that I do. I think I…" Castiel pauses, wondering whether he should say this. Who cares if he does, though? Everything's fucked up anyway. "I think I always will.”

 

He flicks his gaze to Dean briefly, just in time to see his words hit home. Dean's mouth opens slightly, his chartreuse eyes widening in surprise.

 

“But…" Castiel continues, sighing. "I’m not stupid, Dean. I know we’re doomed.” Castiel quirks a sad smile. “What would have been the point of pretending? We distract ourselves from the truth with sex and kisses and... I don't know, frickin' _pancakes_ but…” Castiel sighs, shaking his head and shrugging. “I just thought… If it has to end, then what better way to end it than this? By doing this, the end of our relationship could be for a good cause. By ending it like this, I could save the thing that makes you most happy. Sam.”

 

Castiel looks up at Dean, feeling his heart clawing at itself upon seeing the tears spilling from Dean’s eyes. Castiel tries to quirk a sad smile at him, to show him it's okay, that he's thought it through. Heck, maybe they can still salvage this fuck-up of a plan, maybe Cas can go back to Bart, beg his forgiveness-

 

Dean shuts his eyes, pained. He drops his chin to his chest, breathing heavily, his hands covering his face. No, Cas thinks, berating himself for the mere thought. God, he's put Dean through enough. He doesn't know how to save Sam now, but it can't be like that. 

 

“No.” Cas thinks he hears Dean whisper, though it’s hard to tell. He draws his hands away shakily, staring at Cas, utterly agonised. “No, Cas. This is not… this is not what I wanted to happen. God, I fucked up.”

 

He steps towards Cas, eyes bloodshot. He takes hold of Cas by the wrists, just like he has a thousand times, and walks them backwards, pressing Cas up against the wall. Something inside of Cas recoils, screams in protest– it’s too similar to what Bart did, fuck, it wasn’t even that long ago that Bart had him right here, in this exact position. He grits his teeth, struggling against Dean’s hold.

 

He tries to calm himself down, to tell himself again that Dean's not going to hurt him. It's not working like it should. Every time he blinks he sees Bart's leer, distorted and demonic in his warped memory, and he struggles again, trying to breathe. 

 

"Dean, let me go." Castiel says, his voice a little panicky, he's aware. 

 

“Cas, I don’t wanna leave you.” Dean tells him, probably thinking that Cas is just angry, lashing out. He brings their faces close, trying to hold Cas’s gaze.

 

“But you will!” Cas hisses, still struggling. He tries to focus on Dean's words to keep himself grounded in the present. He's okay. Dean is not going to hurt him. He is not Bart. Still, Cas needs to be free of Dean’s hold right now, because feeling trapped here is only working him up further. If Dean doesn't release him soon, Castiel will lash out properly. He'll end up doing or saying something he regrets. “You will!" Cas says again. "You know you will, just let me go!”

 

“No, Cas.” Dean practically begs, and before Cas can even speak, Dean smashes his mouth into his, his kiss salty with tears. It's too hard, too much. It does nothing to calm Cas down. He squeaks in protest, manages to turn his head slightly.  _Just like he did with Bart_...

 

He shakes the thought away, telling himself over and over that this is not Bart. This is Dean. Dean Winchester. The boy he loves. 

 

“Dean! Get off!" Castiel pleads, still angry. "You’re just doing this because you know it’s over.”

 

“No.” Dean whispers again, and again he finds Cas’s lips, kisses and kisses until it's hard to know what's real and what isn't. Castiel struggles, he kisses back, he tries everything he can think of. He needs to  _breathe,_ this isn't fair, it isn't helping.

 

Dean is trying to distract them with kisses, like always, but it won't  _work_ now, not when Cas is in this state. He does the only thing he can think of, then. He bites, far harder than normal, teeth digging into Dean's lower lip until he gasps in pain, leaning away, his tongue sweeping over it to collect the blood.

 

“I cheated on you, Dean!” Cas shouts, even though Dean is two inches from him. He knows nothing except that Dean needs to get the fuck off him right now, or things are going to get even messier. He has to get Dean to realise this is over, because Cas can't take the heartache of Dean breaking up with him. No, if they end, it has to be on his terms. He couldn't fucking bear it otherwise. “I cheated, do you get that? You’re a fucking idiot if you take me back now. I don’t _want_ you to take me back.”

 

The lie nearly kills him to say aloud, his heart straining in pure agony. Of course he wants Dean to take him back. He wants it with almost every fibre of his being. But it would be pointless, just like he keeps saying. Dean would break up with him in the end, because in Dean's mind, his future is planned out already. And Cas is not a part of it. It’s just easier to be the one to end things, that way his heart doesn’t get quite so broken.

 

“No.” Dean repeats, his voice firmer this time. It seems to be all he can say. Castiel stares at the blood staining his lips, practically glowering. His grip tightens around Cas’s wrists, almost painful. “You only did it to help Sam. I can forgive you.”

 

Castiel growls then, something snapping inside of him and before he thinks about what he's doing, he kicks Dean’s shin, hard. Dean barely even reacts. “Yeah, and then you fucking _ruined_ it!” Cas yells, feeling his face growing redder. “If you’d just stayed away and let Bart fuck me, Sam would be safe right now!” Dean blinks in shock, mouth falling open a little. “What were you even doing there, Dean? What about your game? The talent scout-”

 

“How did you know about-” Dean starts to say, but Cas kicks him again, shutting him up.

 

“You threw away your entire future career, and for what?” Cas shouts, his hands starting to numb from how tightly Dean grips his wrists. “To stop some frat boy fucking around with the kid you use as a booty call, and to push Sam, your _brother,_ right into Kappa Sigma’s waiting arms!”

 

Dean stares at him, incredulous, probably processing all of what Cas just said. Cas can’t quite believe he said it himself, honestly.

 

“We both know my life wasn’t gonna go anywhere anyway, Cas.” Dean says, his voice low and strained. “What’s it matter if I throw away a stupid game, huh? I was saving you from being _raped._ I would’ve thought you might be grateful.”

 

“It’s not rape when I agree to it, Dean.” Cas hisses, knowing his words will really hurt, and hardly caring. “As you well know.”

 

Dean makes a strangled sort of noise, eyes screwing shut a moment.  Cas is a little scared suddenly, but not of Dean hurting him. It's only just occurred to him that Dean has the potential to hurt himself.

 

Cas should dial it back a bit, maybe. He doesn't need to break the guy apart. He just needs to say enough. The right amount. So that Dean will accept it’s all over, so that Cas can crawl back to his room and not leave it for weeks, sobbing his broken heart out into Dean’s hoodies and hopefully avoiding him until graduation.

 

The thought hurts so much that Cas’s knees weaken, and a small sob escapes from Cas’s throat, traitorous and a clear betrayal of his true feelings. Dean’s eyes flick open at the sound, latching on to it, and then he lunges forwards, capturing Cas’s mouth in a kiss again.

 

For some reason, Cas kisses back this time. All thoughts of Bart have dissipated, and now it's just Dean in front of him. Dean, who is crying, telling Cas they can get past this, that wants him so much he's willing to stay here, in this room and beg Cas rather than going out and finding Sam. Cas kisses back gently, the salt water a thin, filmy layer between their mouths.

 

Maybe it’s the confusion swirling around inside him of wanting Dean and not wanting him at the same time. Maybe it’s like that old song, where his mind is telling him no, no, no… but his heart, his lungs, his entire being – they all have a different argument.

 

He kisses back hungrily then, ignoring everything else for a precious few stolen seconds, just losing himself in the familiarity, the warmth of Dean’s mouth, the heat of his body, the taste of his tears. 

 

“This feels a whole lot like agreeing to me.” Dean whispers against him, swiping his tongue against the seam of Cas’s lips.

 

Cas tastes blood, seeping into his mouth. He remembers what’s happening. What the Hell is he doing? He's supposed to be convincing Dean that this is over, not confusing everything even more. He has to stop giving in to this. It's so intoxicating, such a high, every time Dean even touches him he is practically helpless to resist but he has to stop.

 

He struggles again, pushing against Dean’s hold, kicking his shin, but none of it works. If anything Dean just kisses him harder, messier, convinced that he wants this, that they can push through this problem with sex, yet again. But Cas is not going to let that happen. He won’t be strung along for weeks or months again, at the brunt of every one of Dean’s accusations, always the target for Dean’s pissy attitude because deep down Dean knows he’s going to have to leave Cas and it terrifies him.

 

He won’t let it happen. He can't. 

 

Cas forces his lips free, just enough.

 

“Croatoan.”

 

Dean freezes. When he pulls back enough that Cas can see his expression, he looks as though he’s been punched in the gut. Shot, even. The world crashes down around Dean’s face, the flecks of green in his eyes dulling and fading. Cas, pinned as he is, so close in proximity, is forced to just watch.

 

Dean’s grip loosens, very slowly, and Cas’s hands drop to his sides. He doesn’t move, doesn’t dare – he just watches closely, terrified of what he’s done with that one word, again. The one word he was so sure he’d never need again.

 

Dean’s shoulders sag, his body barely holding itself upright as he steps quietly away, completely mute, his eyes cast down. He turns from Cas, walking towards his bed, and slumps down on the edge, resting his elbows on his knees and bringing his hands to cover his face.

 

A long, silent minute passes, and Cas is forced to watch Dean’s shoulders begin to tremble. He’s crying.

 

And Cas just can’t take it. He snaps, his fingernails digging back into his palms, forcing more blood out because he feels like he deserves the pain.

 

God, when did he get this _angry?!_ What has he done to this poor boy, once so confident and proud? Wasn’t it just the other day that Dean was confiding his every doubt and fear to Cas? Didn’t he tell Cas, possibly _only_ Cas, that he is basically so afraid of failure that he has given up all hope for himself to have anything remotely good?

 

And look what Cas is doing. Instead of sticking by him, instead of supporting him like he clearly so desperately needs, Cas is making secret deals behind his back, deciding what’s best for their relationship without even talking it through – fucking _cheating_ on Dean with his rival.

 

For the first time, Cas looks at himself, trying to be objective. And he sees an absolute monster. A broken sort of sob escapes from him, and he crosses to Dean almost without consciously choosing to. He kneels before him on the floor, staring up at his shaking form. 

 

Dean doesn’t even notice, with his head buried in his hands, so Cas takes hold of them both, sobs catching in his throat. He brings them to his lips, kissing them in turn. Dean looks up, confused and hopeless, letting Cas handle him but doing nothing in return.

 

Cas wishes he could take it all back, every second – the safeword, the deal he made with Bart, the kisses that didn’t come from Dean’s lips, the arguments with Sam, every last thing. Especially the safeword, because Dean won’t touch him now, even though his eyes are yearning for it, it’s plain to see.

 

Cas sobs again, climbing into Dean’s lap, straddling him. He lets go of Dean’s hands, letting them fall to the bed, motionless. Dean just watches, bewildered at Cas's rapid change of heart. He looks so hurt. Cas touches his forehead to Dean's, shushing him quietly. 

 

He takes hold of his face in both hands, just holding him in place, eyes closed as he listens to Dean's uneven breaths, fanning over his face. He's still crying as Castiel brings their lips together.

 

“Sorry.” Cas whispers against his mouth, voice filled with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

 

He kisses Dean harder, but the older boy still doesn’t respond, his lips lifeless and pliant. It means nothing unless Dean kisses him back.

 

“Please, Dean,” Cas begs, tears spilling out, “I take it back. I take it all back. Please just kiss me, it’ll all be okay…”

 

Cas tries harder, still kissing fervently, and his hands move down Dean’s body, caressing his chest, fumbling shakily at the zipper on Dean’s jeans. He has to make this right, Dean can’t be left alone like this, it doesn’t matter if Cas’s heart gets broken, God, what was he _thinking_ -

 

Dean’s hands rest on his, and Cas just stops trying, the sobs coming harder as he moves his head to rest on Dean’s shoulder. It takes a while, but finally, finally Dean’s arms wrap around him, holding him there as he cries. It's indescribable, being wrapped again in Dean's embrace. It's a comfort Castiel thought he'd lost. It's the kind of thing he tells himself he'll never take for granted again. He inhales deeply, clutching at the fabric of Dean's clothes, breathing in the scent of him. 

 

“Stop, Cas.” Dean whispers gently. “You were right. We have to stop kidding ourselves.”

 

“No.” Cas wails, his voice muffled by Dean’s jersey.

 

Dean sighs, holding him a little tighter. “I don’t know what to do either, angel.” He pauses, his hand moving slowly up and down Cas’s back, soothing him until the sobs come fewer and farther between. “But right now… I think we should go to sleep.”

 

Apparently, Cas doesn’t have a lot of choice in the matter, because almost immediately Dean shuffles them backwards on the bed, flicking back the covers and laying back, Cas sort of draped over him. Neither of them mentions the fact that they’re still fully clothed. That kind of thing just seems so trivial compared to everything else.

 

Dean pulls the blanket over them. Cas can’t see his face considering he’s still buried in Dean’s shoulder, but he knows Dean is awake. He doubts either of them will sleep for a long time. He clutches on to Dean a little tighter, trying to hold back a terrified whimper. He doesn't understand how he managed to think the things he did earlier. It seems inconceivable now, that he could ever let Dean go. 

 

“I really am sorry, Dean.” Castiel whispers.

 

For a moment, Cas thinks Dean might not reply. Then he feels Dean’s lips press against the top of his head. “I know.” He says, his voice kind of lifeless still. “I’m sorry too.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endtimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are there. We have made it. This is the end. 
> 
> It has come to my attention that I upset quite a few of you with the last chapter I am SO SORRY. It was kinda dark, huh? 
> 
> Please find comfort in the final chapter of this verse. God, how scary. Well, you never know. One day I may return to this. I do love these crazy kids after all. 
> 
> I would like to put out a small trigger for minor mentions/descriptions of self harm (probably should have been in the last chapter too) just in case. Nothing horrible.

Dean wakes up kind of hoping everything will have magically sorted itself out during the night. It’s a childlike thing to wish for, he knows, but sue him, he never really had a childhood anyway. In reality, he wakes up in his bed at the Frat, Cas tucked under one arm, both of them fully dressed right down to their shoes.

 

His face feels dry and papery in a way it hasn't for years, probably because, he supposes, he hasn't cried this much since he was eight years old. John never had any time for crying. He'd made sure Dean knew that. He brings his hand up to his eyes, rubbing the sleep dust away. He readies himself before glancing down at Cas, wondering what he’ll see. He’s kind of relieved when he sees the kid is still sleeping soundly.

 

It hurts to look at him. He’s so fucking pretty, even just zonked out like this in Dean’s crappy single bed. He’s been crying all night too, yet his skin shines like a real angel’s would. His five o’clock shadow is just begging Dean to run his lips over it. His jet black hair is sticking up in tufts, calling out for Dean to run his fingers through it.

 

And normally he would do these things without a thought. Cas would wake up as Dean touched him, a confused frown knitting his brows that would melt into a sleepy smile when he realised Dean was beside him, touching him.

 

There’s a hollow, gnawing pit in Dean’s stomach that whispers he might never have that again. He genuinely doesn’t know if he and Cas will be able to get past all this shit that seems to have avalanched down in the past few days. Heck, Dean has openly admitted to himself that he knows his relationship with Cas won’t last. He can’t lie to Cas about that, it’s not fair. But letting him go now, with such little warning? With no time to prepare himself?

 

It seems unfeasible.

 

How can he get through his days without knowing he’ll see Cas at the end of them? Without his cute little texts, or the unexpected visits he pays to Dean when he’s practicing? How can he be expected to return to a life devoid of the incredible intimacy he and Cas shared, now? With Cas, for the first time in Dean's life, sex hasn't been a merely physical act. Instead, through his intimate moments with Cas he's discovered a deep, incredible bond. Through his touch alone he's shared love, devotion, need.

 

He’s not ready to give all that up yet.

 

And the worst part is, with the hold he knows he has over this kid, he's pretty sure he could convince him to stay. He could probably change his mind with whispered promises and nights of bliss where they forget everything but each other’s bodies.

 

But none of it is _fair_ to Cas. Whatever happens, Cas always ends up hurt. If he stays or if he goes, Cas is left with a shattered heart and a seriously fucked up attitude towards any future relationships – not that Dean wants to think about those thankyouverymuch.

 

He rolls onto his side, stroking the hair out of Cas’s eyes, carefully. The kid’s eyes start to flutter, and Dean’s heart triples in speed. Here we go, he thinks.

 

Whatever happens, just make sure Cas is… okay.

 

* * *

 

 

As it happens, they decide not to talk about it. Well, Cas decides. And he makes sure to add a firm ‘yet’ on the end. As in, they shouldn’t talk about it _yet._ Dean basically tries not to think about when the ‘yet’ might be. They strip off and change clothes mostly in silence, but it’s not a cold, unfriendly silence. It’s not exactly warm either, but it’s fairly comfortable.

 

They both pointedly look away from each other’s nakedness, as apparently it’s become a sort of unspoken rule that during times of stress in their relationship: nakedness = uncontrollable desire = sex = further unresolved issues.

 

Dean understands where Cas is coming from with this point, but he doesn’t particularly like it. So… maybe he sneaks a couple of glances when Cas removes his boxers. He’d be willing to bet ten bucks that Cas did exactly the same.

 

They both sort of unanimously agree to go downstairs and sort everything else out before dealing with their own problems. When they leave Dean’s room they’re in strange moods, both of them uncomfortable, mildly horny and desperately sad, though they try hard not to let it show too much.

 

There are bigger fish to fry. For instance, Sam.

 

What has even happened to Sam, Dean wonders, and reprimands himself again for being too caught up in his own romantic drama to focus on his little brother’s needs. He refrains from cursing under his breath as best he can, not wanting to draw Cas’s attention.

 

They head down the stairs, still in silence, when suddenly Cas grabs hold of his hand. Dean stares at him, shocked, but Cas is looking straight ahead. His cheeks are pinkening, as though he can feel Dean looking, but he doesn’t let go.

 

Dean is about to ask why he’s doing it, if it means anything, what on earth is happening – but then there are voices, drifting into hearing range, coming from the living area.

 

Cas still doesn’t let go.

 

They walk into the living area, prepared to find fucking anything considering how the last few days have gone, but still, somehow, the last person Dean expects to see standing there, addressing a group of Psi Delta Alpha’s, is Meg Masters.

 

“-seriously, guys, if you wanna see this you should hurry the fuck up.” Meg is saying. A grin evident in her voice despite her back being towards Dean and Cas. “Bart was actually _crying._ Weeping. I kid you not.”

 

“Woah,” Dean interrupts from behind her, and everyone turns to stare at him, slightly shocked, their eyes going wide. “What’s goin’ on?”

 

“…Dean,” Meg says, mouth falling open a short way. Her eyes flick to Cas beside him, and then down to their joined hands. She huffs a laugh. “Fucking Hell guys, nothing can keep you apart, huh?”

 

Dean glances down at Cas, their eyes meeting for a moment before quickly sliding away. He decides to ignore the comment, for now. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

 

“What’s goin’ on, fellas?” He asks instead, addressing the whole room, filled with about ten frat boys.

 

It’s Gordon who speaks, rolling his eyes when everyone else seems too scared. “According to the harlot over here,” Gordon jabs a thumb in Meg’s direction, and she rolls her eyes, smirking, “Kappa Sigma are, at this very moment, in the process of losing their charter.”

 

Dean’s eyes bulge, and for some reason he looks to Cas. He’s met with the same bewildered expression.

 

“Bullshit.” Dean declares, turning to Meg. “She’s lyin’.”

 

Meg sighs, frustrated, rolling her eyes again. “Dean, pull your head and whatever else outta your boyfriend’s ass for two seconds.” She says, crossly. Dean feels Cas fidget in discomfort beside him and can’t help but smirk just a tiny bit. “I didn’t have to come here and tell you this, y’know! Ruby’s always telling me I’m too soft for you fuckers, that I should play the field more-”

 

“Get to the point!” Gordon yells from behind her, rolling his eyes this time.

 

Meg glares at him. “Look, all I know is, someone handed in a video recording to the dean of a pretty brutal Kappa Sigma hazing.” She sighs, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “It sucks cause like, they were like ‘the bad boys’ or whatever. So now I guess I’m stuck partying with you losers again.”

 

“You’ve slept with like half of this frat, Meg!” Garth calls from behind her, sending a loud chuckle through the room.

 

Meg doesn’t bat an eyelid, shrugging. “I didn’t say you guys weren’t hot.”

 

“Wait,” Dean says, still processing. “Is this for real? Like, _for real_ , for real?”

 

Meg rolls her eyes so far back Dean thinks they might actually disappear into her skull. “ _Yes._ That’s what I’m trying to tell you thickheads. They’re being thrown out of their house right now!”

 

Dean meets the eyes of almost every other guy in the room, each of them thinking exactly the same thing, he knows. There’s a two second pause, and then all of them hurtle to the door, Dean dragging Cas along by their joined hands.

 

They run down fraternity row in a huge group, all of them laughing and whooping in hopeful excitement. All of them except for Dean, who refuses to believe it until he sees it with his own eyes. He glances over at Cas as they run, and knows he must be in a similar mindset, what with his determined look, his set, firm jaw.

 

They reach the Kappa Sigma house in no time, and as they slow, Dean can hardly believe his own eyes. Dean has only ever seen the dean of the university behind a lectern, in front of thousands of students. Never up this close. Her name is Naomi Tapping, he knows, because her name is on all the bullshit forms he has to sign to account for the funding they get at the frat.

 

She’s scary looking in person, very neat and orderly. Her hair is pulled into a perfectly kept bun, her grey suit immaculate and crisp. She waits, arms clasped before her, on the lawn of the Kappa Sigma house, a faint, tight smile playing on her lips. Alaistair and Bart exit then, carrying a large couch between them, straining a little under its weight.

 

The other Psi Delta Alpha’s snigger, but Dean shushes them, eyeing the dean cautiously, in case she sees and punishes them too for mocking them.

 

“I will be interviewing each of your Pledges individually.” Naomi says loudly, sounding as though she's continuing a conversation Dean has missed the first part of. Her voice is eerily calm and pleasant, but somehow intimidating too, as though she could burst into a furious, blazing rage at any moment. “Some have already come forward to file allegations of so-called ‘hazing’. Many of them have named those personally responsible.”

 

Alaistair and Bart lift the sofa down carefully, placing it on the lawn next to a pile of other furniture – presumably things that the frat have bought themselves, and that cannot stay in the house once they are out of it.

 

Dean stares at the pile of junk, utterly shell-shocked. This can't be happening. There's no way his fates have aligned so that he is now able to witness Bartholomew fucking Harrington's crappy, stained bed, his wonky dresser and shitty little bedside lamp dumped haphazardly on the lawn outside his frat house. It's too good to be true.  

 

Dean just watches Bart and Alaistair in sheer disbelief, his hand passing over his face as they walk over to Naomi, shame-faced. She gives them both an unnervingly pleasant smile. Other smaller sororities and fraternities have started exiting their houses now, gathering around the Kappa Sigma house to watch the show. Dean half expects Naomi to protest, to send everyone back into their houses, but she doesn't bat an eyelid, her gaze never straying from Dean's two nemeses. 

 

For a moment, Dean thinks he might be dreaming. He's had a weird morning after all. Maybe he's still back in bed with Cas, fully dressed under the covers, his brain frantically scrabbling for a way out of the horrific mess his life has suddenly become. He tries giving himself an inconspicuous pinch on the forearm, hoping he doesn't attract Cas's attention by doing so. It hurts. He winces at the pain. 

 

This is real. 

 

Fuck, Dean thinks, mind whiting out, if Kappa Sigma lose their charter… Sam is _safe._ His problem is _gone._ This kind of miraculous shit literally never happens to him. He runs his hand through his hair, mouth open in pure shock. He glances down at Cas, trying to ground himself, to get some kind of sensible reaction here, but Cas's expression is just as disbelieving, and he doesn't even notice Dean's attention, he's too busy staring at the scene as it unfolds. 

 

“I think it goes without saying that I will be punishing each member of the fraternity individually.” Naomi continues, still smiling. Fuck, she’s obviously a sadistic psychopath, but Dean is more than glad she’s directing whatever craziness she's harbouring at his mortal foes. “We will begin, of course, with immediate expulsion from the University. For all Fraternity members involved.” Alaistair and Bart’s jaws drop to the ground; they stare at her in horror. “Following this, I will be contacting the Police, who will distribute your charges depending on the mounting evidence. Of course you will be fined for damage to property, and most of you may be charged with harming fellow students, amongst other things.”

 

Bart looks close to tears again. It riles up selfish, malicious thoughts in Dean’s brain, remembering what the bastard did to Cas. Alaistair too, for letting it happen, for facilitating and agreeing to the whole fucked up arrangement. He thinks about Bart's hands on Cas's skin, his lips covering Cas's mouth, his deceitful, disgusting words bringing a tearful Cas to think there's no other option than to sell his body to save Sam. There's not an ounce of sympathy for the sucker in Dean's whole body; he deserves every scrap of punishment that Naomi can conjure up for him. Heck, in Dean's eyes, he deserves worse.

 

Dean glances down at Cas now, wondering how seeing Bart punished is affecting him. To his surprise, Cas is strangely calm as he watches the proceedings. His face gives away no emotion, but Dean can feel how tightly Castiel grips his hand, betraying the tumult of feelings writhing within. It takes Dean a long time to drag his eyes away from Cas's profile. He makes sure to squeeze Cas's hand in return, barely even knowing if Cas will register it. 

 

Naomi brushes some non-existent dirt off of her suit then, and smiles a little wider. “Okay, boys. Come with me.”

 

With that, she marches off, back down fraternity row, and Alaistair and Bart have no choice but to follow her. The two of them look down at the ground as they pass the onlookers, pretending not to hear the hissed jibes and taunts directed their way. As luck would have it, Bart is the one nearest to Dean as he passes by, and in a sweet, delicious moment of pure bliss, he looks up, catching Dean's eye.

 

One half of his face is purpled and bruised, his eye bloodshot, a small cut just above the cheekbone. Damn, Dean thinks, grinning. He really got him good. It doesn't even matter that it hurt like a son of a bitch, or that he still can't flex his fingers properly. He's totally sure Bart is in far worse pain. He keeps grinning as Bart looks at him, and he even winks, just to make it really sting. 

 

Bart scowls and flushes, quickly averting his eyes, and then something awesome happens. There's a tug on Dean's wrist, which he quickly realises is Cas, stepping forwards, taking his chance before it's gone, and spitting right in Bart's pathetic, mottled face. Bart stops in his tracks, stunned, looking at Cas in horror. He brings his hand up to wipe away the gob in disgust.

 

Castiel steps forwards a little more, and the crowd seems to quiet, tense and excited, waiting to see what will happen. 

 

"In your dreams, you piece of shit." Castiel hisses, his voice low enough that Naomi won't have caught it.

 

Still, terrified for him, Dean yanks him backwards, pushing Cas behind him as though he's the kid's human shield, just in case Bart tries to go for him. He can feel Cas struggling a little, can even hear his vague protests, but he doesn't let him do anything further. Sure, Cas deserved to get a punch in before Bart was taken off to the gallows, but that's as far as it goes. 

 

Revenge is never as satisfying as that first retaliation. That's why he's so glad Cas stopped him before he beat Bart to a bloody pulp, which he was definitely,  _definitely_ going to. 

 

Bart just stands there though, too astounded to do anything more. A few moments pass, Dean glaring at him in warning, and then he shuffles away, guilty and with a slightly faster pace. The crowd erupt into cheers of triumph. Dean always suspected nobody actually liked those assholes. They were just bullies. 

 

And now they're gone. Fuck, it can't be real. 

 

“Victory party at Psi Delta Alpha!” Someone shouts, and Dean's eyes widen. Unsurprisingly, that voice sounded a lot like Gabriel. He tries to look around for the guy, to spot him in the milling frat boys and sorority girls, but can see nothing. 

 

Everyone seems pretty enthusiastic about this sudden plan, and before Dean can do anything to stop it, there are hoards of youths heading down the street, shrieking and laughing in huge groups, headed directly for his house. For fuck's sake, he thinks, shoulders slumping in realisation that this is a battle already lost. He really wishes his so-called second-in-command would actually bother  _asking_ him before inviting everyone back to the frat for a rager. Seriously, Dean's a pretty easy-going guy by all standards, and he loves a party as much as anyone so it's usually pretty unlikely he'll say no to that kind of thing. 

 

But right now...? Well, for starters it's 10:43am on a Monday morning. Besides that, he's got an enormous pile of crap to sort through today, starting and hopefully ending with the fixing of his rocky relationship with Cas. To try and do that whilst a herd of excitable party-goers riled up on the news of the Kappa Sigma scandal infiltrate every room of the frat? Well, it makes it more of a challenge, and that's putting it mildly. 

 

But it's too late for protests now. He can already see people filing into the house from back here, probably already raiding the basement and kitchen cupboards for any kind of booze they can scrounge up. Gotta love student parties. Oh well, he thinks, a slight smile on his face despite everything, because regardless of whatever else, Kappa Sigma being an extinct threat is a  _huge_ win. It's potentially a game-changer. 

 

He turns to Cas, still hanging on to his hand at his side. He sees a vague smile on Cas's face too, and wonders for the first time today if things might actually be okay. If maybe they could-

 

“Dean?” Cas asks, his smile fading impossibly fast. It might be Dean's imagination, but the sun seems to dip behind a cloud at that exact moment. It's March, but Dean shivers for the first time that morning, realising he left the frat without shoes or a jacket. He tries to focus on what Cas is saying, looking him in the eye to show he has his full attention. There’s a silence, as though Cas doesn’t actually know what to say. They’re the only two left on the street now. “This is… this is very good.”

 

“Yeah.” Dean agrees. He wants to smile again, because fuck, this is  _really_ good, but the conversation still feels ominous somehow. Why does every word out of Cas's mouth now seem to be tinged with a vague sort of melancholia? 

 

Cas chews his lower lip, his fingers struggling in Dean's grasp. “It doesn’t…” He sighs, pulling his hand free completely. “It doesn’t solve all our problems though.”

 

Dean nods, quietly. He knew that, of course. He was kind of hoping maybe this one big, enormous good thing would be enough of a distraction for now. At least for a little while. Just long enough so that they could keep up the happy pretence for another day or so. After that, well. They can talk and talk until their hearts break apart and their whole relationship, everything they've built crumbles to dust around them. All Dean wants is just a little bit more time. One more kiss. One more second holding Cas's hand. One more chance to make him smile. 

 

“Yeah, I know.” Dean says instead, knowing it's pointless to try and explain all of that to Cas. Like he thought earlier, his wants and wishes are all those of a child. 

 

Castiel nods, still chewing his lip, and then turns, walking back up the road towards the frat house. Dean watches him for a minute, then follows.

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow, God knows how, the party is already raging when Cas and Dean get back to the frat. There’s celebratory music blaring from the many speakers Dean has acquired and installed over the years, and people are packed in to the front rooms, having not spread out yet, all talking animatedly about the Kappa Sigma scandal.

 

It’s still the morning, Cas realises as he pushes through the crowds, which suddenly makes sense of his overwhelming tiredness. He wonders if the people here are actually drinking; weirdly, the idea isn't a terrible one to him. He could use something to take the edge of this constant state of horrible anxiety. He's already decided that attending class isn't a realistic option today. He would never be able to concentrate. It's better to sort everything out in his personal life as much as possible before trying to swallow a heaping plate of astro-physics, which Crowley is introducing them to this week.

 

As he continues to push through the crowds, Castiel is vaguely aware of Dean following behind him. He seems to be content being blindly led through the house, despite the fact it's very clear Cas has absolutely no idea where he's headed. He’s got a vague plan to make coffee in the kitchen if there aren’t too many people blocking the kettle. It's as good a plan as any, at this point. 

 

He needs to shake the weariness, because he's still processing the Kappa Sigma thing, which even now, moments later, seems incomprehensible. Honestly, he's having a hard time entertaining the thought of Kappa Sigma losing their charter, which is probably a sign he should leave the victory party at the earliest opportunity.

 

Because if Kappa Sigma really have lost their charter, which is very much how it seemed back down the road, then Cas’s plan last night, the cheating, the disgusting, awful things he said and did… all of it will have been pointless.

 

If Kappa Sigma lose their charter, Sam is in no danger. Cas basically never needed to worry about anything at all. But the mess he's made by trying to fix everything... that's a different story. It's going to be much harder to sweep that away.

 

He reaches the kitchen, finally, and it’s teeming with people. Everyone is so excitable, so happy, and all Castiel can do is look away from their animated conversations, their shouts of joy, his stomach twisting. He spots Anna a way off in the crowd, but she doesn’t notice him, thank goodness. On top of everything else, there's no way he could deal with her peppiness right now.

 

Thinking better of the coffee plan, he turns to leave, and spins right into Dean, who has apparently stuck to his heels this entire time.

 

“Sorry,” Cas mutters, dithering on the spot, and Dean frowns.

 

“Cassy!” A familiar voice shouts from his right, and Cas turns to it, knowing before he even sees the familiar, grinning face that it is Gabriel. His shoulders sag in relief. Thank the heavens. Gabriel is a perfect distraction from all of this. “Hear the good news? Kappa Sigma are no more!”

 

“Yeah, I heard.” Castiel says, managing to lift his mouth into something resembling a smile. Gabriel, the bloodhound, notices something amiss immediately, of course.

 

He steps closer to Cas, frowning, placing a hand on his arm. “You okay, bro?” He glances at Dean hovering behind him, and his eyes narrow a little. “Something bothering you?”

 

Castiel just sighs, giving Gabriel a look that just says ‘not now’. Gabe understands it, of course, because they’ve been brothers their whole lives and that’s just how sibling-stuff works, but Cas still notices Gabe eyeing Dean with distrust.

 

“Where’s Sam?” Castiel asks, to divert the conversation, and Gabriel turns his attention back to Cas.

 

“He’s around.” Gabriel replies, scanning his immediate vicinity for the lanky, straggly-haired teen. When he sees Sam nowhere nearby, he shrugs. “I dunno. He was here a second ago. I suggest you go find him, Dean. He’s pretty messed up about everything.”

 

Castiel feels Dean tensing without even turning round. It's a result of being perpetually in tune with the guy’s emotions. Without the constant effort Cas makes to extend his feelers to garner how Dean might be feeling, it would be practically impossible to really understand him. Dean Winchester is far from an open book, and he tends to repress his true feelings in favour of the showy, machismo personality he wears daily as a disguise. It's not his fault exactly, it's just how he is. But it means Castiel has to work that little bit harder to really know him. Seeing as the guy would much, _much_ rather distract Cas with a blowjob than discuss his feelings.

 

Castiel shakes off the irritation he feels thinking about Dean's failure to share with him. It's not fair to think it, anyway, he knows, because he's had his defences drilled into him since childhood. Cas should be patient and gently encouraging at all times. Anyway, he'll have time to sort out all of that, and whatever else, with Dean later on, he thinks, swallowing it all down.

 

For now, he just turns to face the guy, wearing a look of sincere understanding. To Castiel, it's plain to see that Dean is crawling out of his skin right now with impatience and worry.  He's desperate to go and search for Sam, to smooth things over with his little brother, which - though inconvenient - is understandable. 

 

Dean doesn't say anything to voice his discomfort, and Castiel sighs. He's trying to hide it because he's nervous of Castiel's reaction. It seems Cas isn't the only one who has no idea how to proceed from this point. 

 

“Go.” Castiel tells him, reaching for his hand again to squeeze it in reassurance. It’s a somewhat weak gesture, but it’ll have to do for now. “It’s okay. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

 

At this, Dean shoots him a look of immense gratitude. For a fleeting second, Cas feels Dean squeezing his hand back a little harder, and then it's released, Dean disappearing into the crowd. Castiel sighs after him, resigning himself to another period of unsurety and waiting before he and Dean can talk properly, try and sort out this mess. 

 

He sighs again, hand going to his hair, and he turns back to his brother, who hands him a tumbler of clear liquid and ice. Well, that answers Cas’s ‘is everyone drinking’ question, anyway. He takes it gratefully, sipping. It’s tequila, of course.

 

“Thanks.” Castiel says, closing his eyes as the familiar wave of tipsiness washes over him. 

 

“So, I hear Dean threw away his shot at the bigtime last night.” Gabriel says conversationally, far too nonchalant for Cas to believe he doesn’t know more than he's letting on. “Apparently he just up and left at halftime. His team were winning, too. Any idea why that might be?”

 

“Gabe, can we just… not talk about this right now?” Castiel asks in vain, massaging one of his temples with his free hand and sipping more tequila.

 

A dancing partier in sweats and a Red Sox jersey knocks into him from behind, and Castiel turns to scowl at him. The guy just finds it hilarious, clapping Cas on the back with a half-hearted apology barely audible over Justin Bieber pumping through the speakers. God, these people, Castiel thinks to himself, turning back to his drink. He can barely stomach them on a normal day, but now...

 

“I don’t know what happened last night, Cassy,” Gabriel starts to say then, lowering his voice so nobody can overhear, “people are saying all kinds of crazy shit. I’ve heard stories of you getting on your knees for the entire Kappa Sigma frat house, of them beating you to a bloody pulp, all kinds of things.”

 

Castiel looks at his brother, wide-eyed, and for the first time he notices the relief in his hazel eyes. Relief at seeing that Cas is okay, probably. Christ, he needs to be more considerate of people. Dean isn’t the only one who cares about him, after all.

 

“Sammy refuses to tell me anything." Gabriel continues, looking mildly irritated. Castiel stares at his brother like a rabbit in headlights. He hopes Gabriel hasn't found out what really went down by any other means. It's humiliating to have everyone else say or hear this kind of stuff about him, but _Gabriel?_  "He just said that you and him were in trouble, and that Kappa Sigma needed to be brought down.”

 

Castiel keeps staring. His mind is racing to keep up with what Gabriel is saying. 

 

Gabe takes a casual sip of his drink then, leaning against the counter. He shrugs. “So I did.”

 

Castiel’s mouth falls open in shock. He nearly drops the glass he's holding. “ _You_ did?!”

 

Gabriel’s eyes slide to his, and he winks. “Shh.”

 

“You lost Kappa Sigma their charter?” Castiel exclaims quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

 

“I’d been saving that video for a while.” Gabriel says, fingers drumming against his glass. “Thought I might need it for something.”

 

Castiel’s mind spins into a freewheel. He remembers Meg saying something about a video being the thing that brought Kappa Sigma to their knees – a video that captured a ‘brutal hazing’, as she’d put it. He wonders when or how Gabriel managed to capture this. He shakes his head in wonder, awestruck as usual by his brother's skill.

 

Gabriel truly is a master. A Trickster, in every sense of the word. It's almost scary to think about what the guy can achieve. Castiel is sincerely grateful that he will most likely never end up becoming Gabriel's enemy. 

 

Then, as he watches the slow, satisfied smirk spread over his brother's face, Cas remembers something else. Something blurry, hazy and obscured by bright light. It barely even feels like a memory. More like something from a dream. A nightmare.

 

“Gabe…” Castiel says slowly, stepping close to his brother so that he can drop his voice even lower. Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “The night of Dean’s birthday…”

 

Instantly, Gabriel’s mouth drops open, his eyes widening. He leans closer to Cas, their foreheads practically touching.

 

“How do you know about that?” He hisses. “You were gone! You ran away from me!”

 

“I don’t…” Castiel starts to say.

 

How the Hell can he explain that he _dreamed_ it? Castiel is a man of science. He doesn’t believe in premonitions, or visions, or whatever the heck that was. And anyway, what he saw in dream-Dean's room can’t have been completely true – because from what he understands of it, he witnessed two unidentified figures 'hazing' _Sam._ That makes no sense whatsoever; Sam Winchester wasn’t even around back then.

 

Under Gabriel's scrutiny, Castiel tries hard to think about the dream logically. Maybe, possibly, an explanation could be that until he’d decided to explore it in dream-ville, his mind had only collected bits and pieces of the puzzle, subconsciously. After all, on the night of Dean's birthday, he’d seen and heard Gabriel finding people in Dean's room, even if he hadn't understood what he was seeing back then. He'd heard his brother yelling at people, even as he'd fled the scene.

 

It wasn't until some months later that he found out that Kappa Sigma were a threat, and that they had a reputation for hazing, and that they hated Dean. It seems unlikely, but perhaps with the gained knowledge of this new information, Castiel’s mind, whilst dreaming, had fitted the jigsaw together as best it could. That would explain why he saw Sam in the place of whichever Pledge Gabriel had really discovered in there, because Sam is the one currently under threat.

 

“I don’t know.” Castiel says lamely, choosing, probably wisely, not to try and explain all of that to his sceptical brother.

 

“Look, Cas, you can’t tell anyone what footage it was that got sent to the dean, or that it was me that sent it, alright?" Gabriel tells him sternly, looking deadly serious. “You don’t even _wanna_ know what the fuck they were doin’ to that poor kid in Dean’s room, and bein' a fabby second in command I managed to clear it all up before anyone else found out, but that poor Pledge doesn’t deserve to be humiliated further by havin’ all the footage leaked.”

 

Castiel nods, his stomach heaving a little when he thinks of what Gabriel might have stumbled across that night, and how oblivious he'd been to it all. He sips his drink again, eyes still wide. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

 

“Kappa Sigma were bad people, Cas.” Gabriel says, his voice returning to its normal volume. He looks down into his own cup, face grave. “They deserve everything they got." There's a pause, where Gabriel seems to deliberate whether he should say something. "I’m sure you know that more than anyone.”

 

Castiel’s cheeks burn immediately, because in that second he's sure that Gabriel knows everything. He knows about Bart, about the shady, abhorrent deal Cas struck with him, about the terrible lies people are spreading about his promiscuity and how it will only get worse now. Castiel can't even look at his brother. It’s utterly humiliating, because Gabe is family. The guy is kindly acting like he's oblivious, but there's not a lot that goes on around campus that escapes Gabriel's bloodhound-like detection. How can Cas be normal around him now that he  _knows_ that Castiel practically whored himself out in a last ditch effort to save his boyfriend’s brother? And would do it again, probably. 

 

God, somehow this just got even messier. Gabriel nudges him in the shoulder, shooting him a soft smile. It helps, barely. At least Gabriel isn't totally disgusted by him at any rate. That really would be unbearable. 

 

He should have gone straight to Gabe after he found out about Sam being in peril, just like Anna said. Fuck, he's messed up so much. He feels a traitorous tear dripping down his cheek. He doesn't even bother to hide it. 

 

"Hey," Gabriel says in a weirdly soft tone, "c'mere." 

 

Before Cas can protest, he's being pulled into a bear hug, at a slightly awkward angle considering how much shorter Gabe is than he. It's nice though, comforting and familiar, in a way that reminds Castiel of home. He sniffles against Gabe's shoulder. 

 

"Don't get snot on my awesome jacket." Gabriel murmurs quietly. "Sam said he thought it was cool."

 

"Have you taken it off since?" Castiel asks weakly, trying a joke. Gabriel chuckles, squeezing Cas a little tighter. 

 

"What do you think?" 

 

Castiel laughs, finding the movement relaxing. Gabriel doesn't let go, which is nice. "I think I really fucked things up, Gabe."

 

"With meatbrain, you mean?" 

 

Castiel hits him lightly in the shoulder. "Yeah."

 

If anyone is weirded out by the very public display of brotherly affection in the middle of the kitchen, no one says. Castiel wonders if it's because most of the people at this party are mildly afraid of his brother. Not in a petrified, Kappa Sigma way, but more wary than they would be of other people, perhaps. It seems likely that this is the case. 

 

"Aw Cassy," Gabriel says, rubbing a hand over his back, "don't you know how hard it is to break you two apart, even for the duration of like, a day? You guys are so in love it's sickening. What could possibly be so awful that you can't push past it like you always do, with copious amounts of loud, totally disgusting sex?" 

 

Castiel chuckles, and then hits Gabe again in the shoulder. "There... are some things that seem like they could... maybe signify the end." 

 

God, it really hurts to say those words aloud. Castiel grips the lapel of Gabriel's jacket, squeezing tightly. He tries to fight the tears away. 

 

"Really?" Gabriel asks, sounding genuinely surprised. "What are they? Please, give me a heads up, I've been trying to think of ways to get rid of Winchester for months." 

 

Castiel pulls away from Gabe then, sniffling and laughing in a probably very unattractive manner. "Shut up. You're not funny." Gabriel returns his grin. Cas sighs. "Do you really think we can get past this?"

 

"Well, I don't exactly know what 'this' is..." Gabriel says, swallowing the last of his drink. Cas's face falls. "But even so, unequivocally yes. Nothing's gonna break you two up, at least not forever. Trust me, I've tried."

 

Castiel stares at Gabe, who for once, isn't hiding a smirk or a secretive knowing grin. There's no twinkle of mischief in his eye. He really believes that Cas and Dean will be okay. It's almost mindblowing. Every outcome Castiel has considered thus far has been a painful one. He realises that he hasn't actually let himself have any hope for a long time.

 

"Huh." Castiel says, his tears drying for a moment as he considers things. "Can I have another drink, Gabe?"

* * *

 

When Dean finds Sam, he’s packing a bag. He’s in the Pledge’s dorm room, which isn’t that surprising. The rest of the room is empty, thank God, Dean thinks, because he's not sure he could handle having an audience to what is sure to be one of the chick-flickiest moments of his young life.

 

When Dean walks in, Sam swallows thickly, wiping his eyes. He tries to turn away from Dean, as though caught in a compromising position. Has he been crying?

 

Dean walks over to him, sitting down heavily on his makeshift bed. He studies Sam's back, his trembling shoulders, wondering if he ought to go and hug him or something. Is that the appropriate gesture for family in this sort of situation. The Winchesters are a screwed up bunch, he thinks to himself. He's considering whether it's 'proper' to comfort his little brother while he's crying. John Winchester would of course say no, leave him be, let him cry it out. 

 

But John Winchester is not a role model that Dean wants to follow after any longer. 

 

“Hey.” He says after a minute or so of dithering, because Sam isn’t speaking and he still hasn't moved from the bed.

 

He hears Sam swallow again, and he turns around, face blotchy, eyes bloodshot. He avoids Dean's gaze, returning his attention to the bag, folding his clothes into neatly, carefully, hands shaking. 

 

“Hey.” He says eventually, his voice raspy. 

 

After a while, Sam gives up shovelling stuff into the bag, or maybe he just runs out of stuff. He dithers then, at a loss for what to do with his hands. After a while, he sits on the bed too, further away from Dean than he might normally. Each one of his movements is precise, gentle, as though he’s navigating through a minefield.

 

Dean sucks in a breath, wondering how the Hell to begin this conversation. He decides to start out with the obvious, gesturing at the bag. “Goin’ somewhere?”

 

Sam looks down at the hands folded in his lap, guilt clouding his expression. “Yeah, I’m… going home.”

 

“That’ll be a neat trick.” Dean replies with a half-smile, trying desperately to keep the mood light. “Gonna jog to the station? It's few miles. You might just make it before the last train leaves.”

 

Sam just shrugs. “I’ll hitchhike. Bus. Whatever.”

 

Dean sighs at him. “Sam, you don’t need to go.”

 

This time, Sam turns towards him, looking him in the eye. He looks as though the weight of the world has fallen onto his skinny shoulders.  

 

“I don’t need to go?” He repeats, sounding incredulous. “Dean, are you crazy? All I’ve done since I got here was screw everything up. Of course I need to go. I’m the reason everything is so shitty right now.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes. “You always were a little drama queen.” He brings his hand up to card through his hair, wondering how he should phrase this. “Look, um… things would’ve gotten shitty eventually whatever happened. Sure, you stirred the pot, but it was just a matter o’time before Kappa Sigma were gonna try and take us down one last time – you just happened to be the perfect bait.”

 

Dean tries a smile then, but when he looks at Sam, he sees more tears glistening in his little brother’s eyes.

 

“That’s not what I mean.” Sam says, his voice so full of guilt and despair that it breaks Dean’s heart a little.

 

“Huh?” Dean asks, frowning. He shuffles closer to Sam upon instinct, ducking his head to hear him better.

 

“I mean… I ruined everything. But most of all I…” Sam’s breath hitches, and he looks skyward, his tears catching the light. “You and Cas. I just… I fucked it all up.” Dean tries not to feel the words like a punch to the gut. “What Cas did… I saw him make that deal, Dean. And I know he did it for me.”

 

“Sammy…” Dean tries to say, aware that his voice is cracking. He's got to stop this self-deprecation train before it consumes Sam completely. He knows all too well what blaming yourself for every mistake in life can lead to. 

 

But Sam is persistent. 

 

“It’s really broken, isn’t it? I really ruined that for you.” Sam asks, sounding desperate, but he seems to have answered it himself already. He wipes tears from his eyes, furiously. “I’m such a dick, God. All I wanted was to spend time with you and make friends with the guy that makes you so happy and instead…”

 

Dean pushes every doubt out of his mind and slips an arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him in. He doesn’t know what to say to make Sam feel any better. He doesn't know any better than Sam does whether he and Cas will be okay. That’s the scariest part of this whole mess. He squeezes Sam’s shoulders regardless, trying to stay strong for him.

 

“Sammy…" He tries. "...this stuff is complicated. There’s more to it than just, I dunno, me and Cas arguing about you or the Kappa Sigma thing. Or even what Cas did.” Dean struggles out a sigh, knowing he’s not making much sense. “Me and Cas… we’re battling some real, tough problems at the moment. But whatever happens, don’t go thinkin’ you went and broke us up or whatever."

 

"I can't help it." Sam near-whispers, sniffling a little. "At the very least it seems like I helped."

 

Dean makes a 'pfft' noise, batting his hand through the air to dismiss Sam's comment. "Hey man, I know what it’s like, okay?" Dean smiles down at Sam as best he can, trying to edge that miserable look of his features. "Feelin’ cool as anything cause you’re part of the badass crowd. It's a classic after school special trope. Heck, I was in some pretty similar situations when I was your age. And Cas gets it too. For… other reasons.”

 

Dean looks away, a fresh wave of guilt washing over him as he remembers how not even that long ago he had Castiel completely under his spell, not in a dissimilar way to how the Kappa Sigma’s had Sam, probably. Well, without all the kinky shit, one would hope.

 

“Maybe... there's a still a chance for you guys?" Sam asks, a pleading, sort of hopeful tone in his voice. Dean quirks a smile at him, aware it looks a little sad. "You really love him." 

 

A sharp pain threads itself through Dean’s core, piercing his slow pumping heart. He squeezes Sam’s shoulders again, trying not to let it show.

 

“Yeah.” He agrees, not seeing much point in arguing. “Yeah, I do.”

 

"He loves you too. A lot." Sam says, sniffing and wiping his nose with his sleeve. 

 

Dean's smile is a little happier this time, knowing that this, at least, is true. And when Sam puts it so simply, it seems like fixing things with Cas should be the easiest thing in the world. He wishes that were the case. 

 

“You think?” Dean asks, smiling, and Sam snorts.

 

“Are you kidding?” He shrugs Dean’s arm off his shoulders, turning to look him in the eye. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Dean, I was a dick to him all week, he barely knows me and he was willing to sell himself to save me _just to spare you the pain._ ”

 

Dean’s plastered on smile falters a little. Hearing it like that sure does put it in perspective. For a fleeting moment, things seem a little less hopeless. And then, as huge and ferocious as a freight train ploughing into him at full speed, everything Cas said last night swims back into his mind.

 

The thing is, really, that there is an issue, an unavoidable issue that Sam is still oblivious to. The issue is that Dean, hopelessly in love as he is, decided to check his phone at halftime yesterday during the most important match of his life. He’d been worried about his boyfriend, who was acting strangely that very morning, and an anxious text from Anna was enough to make him drop everything, ignore Bobby’s frantic yelling and sprint off the field all the way back to the Kappa Sigma frat house.

 

The issue is, that it's that very game, the one that Dean abandoned mid-way through, that was his last shot at a future that might have been different from the one he has planned. It's the abandonment of that very game that was the nail in the coffin of Dean's dreams. 

 

It’s ironic, really, that his lack of future is going to be the thing that will tear he and Cas apart, but he gave up his last chance for success to save Cas anyway.

 

Dean actually lets out a hollow little chuckle at the thought. Sam furrows his brow, opening his mouth to ask Dean about it.

 

Suddenly, there is a knock on the door. He and Sam both turn to stare at it, bewildered. Dean is just thinking that it must be a lost, wandering party member, when the door opens, cautiously. A few moments pass, and Cas peers around the door, slightly flushed and looking wary. Dean's heart aches at the sight of him. His stomach churns, knowing that the time where he and Cas will have to attempt to sort through everything is drawing near.

 

“Sorry if I'm interrupting.” He says, looking unsure. “I just wondered if you were free to talk soon, Dean?”

 

An incredible urge seizes hold of Dean in that second, and all he wants to do is go to him. He aches to just take hold of Cas and kiss him senseless, maybe because it could be the last time. He squashes down all the nerves that bubble up inside of him and just focuses on the sight of Cas, right here, anxious and uncertain, looking as gorgeous as he always has, somehow. He makes himself shoot the guy a tired smile, ignoring the confusion Castiel wears in response.  

 

“Yeah, of course.” Dean says, acquiescing to Cas's request even it might be the last time he gets to do so. 

 

"Okay." Cas says, nodding. He fidgets on the spot, his gaze flicking over to Sam. Dean can tell without looking that Sam's expression is probably even more guilty than before, seeing Cas in front of him, knowing what he was prepared to do to save him. “Hello, Sam.” Castiel says eventually, clearly not sure of the protocol here.

 

Sam looks away from him at once, fixing his gaze on the floor. “Hi, Cas.”

 

“How are you feeling?” Cas asks, taking a tentative step into the room. He closes the door behind him, shutting out the noise of the party. He shoots Dean a quick glance, as though asking if it’s okay for him to be in here, if he's interrupting.

 

Dean wants to laugh. If it weren’t for Cas, Sam could be in horrible danger right now. He's welcome in any conversation he and Sam share, from now until forever. He fights a sudden, strong urge to pull Cas towards him, to thank him without words for everything he’s done. Apart from Cas's reaction to that, it would probably be a little awkward to make such a gesture in front of Sam. 

 

“I-I’m fine.” Sam replies, still not looking at Cas.

 

Castiel nods, looking relieved. "I'm glad." He fidgets awkwardly for a moment, then turns back to Dean. "So...?"

 

Dean raises his eyebrows, remembering Cas's earlier request. He sucks in a breath, stomach flipping over. Well, he knew this was coming. He nods, sending Sam a quick, reassuring smile before getting to his feet. Sam watches him go, looking almost scared for him. 

 

"Don't go anywhere, Sammy." Dean says to him. "Go enjoy the party, huh? Celebrate."

 

Sam gulps, but nods at him, so Dean can be at least pretty sure he's not going to run off. Castiel walks to the door and Dean follows silently, an ominous feeling settling into his stomach as he considers what this conversation might entail. He sucks in another breath, trying to steady his racing heart. 

 

“Dean?” Sam pipes up from behind him, and Dean spins on his heel, all too happy for the momentary distraction. He looks into his brother’s eyes, heavy with guilt that, despite Dean's best efforts, he senses won’t be going away for some time. “I’m so sorry. Both of you, I-” Sam lets out a shaky breath, eyes darting to Cas. "I'm sorry for everything."

 

Dean’s breath catches, and he resists the urge to look over at Cas, to see how he reacted to the apology. He blinks fiercely, ignoring the burn of threatening tears, and gives Sam a smile. “Don’t sweat it, kid.”

 

Before he can listen to his little brother’s protestations, Dean turns back around, just in time to watch Cas send Sam a second smile, one that looks like forgiveness. A moment passes, and they both head out into the hall, shutting the door behind them. 

 

The ‘party’ downstairs is getting pretty heavy, if the blaring pop tunes are anything to go by, so they head to Dean’s room, the only place they are sure they’ll get some semblance of privacy. As soon as he’s inside, Castiel goes to Dean’s bed out of habit, sitting down on top of the covers, his legs crossed underneath him.

 

“Is Sam really alright?” Is the first thing he asks, before Dean’s even got the damn door closed. Damn his compassionate, lovable personality. It's going to make the inevitable end of this thing so much harder.

 

Dean sighs, dithering over where to sit. He opts for the office chair after a while, thinking things are still too weird to sit by Cas, or on top of Cas, like he actually wants.

 

“He’s ok.” Dean replies, shrugging. “He blames himself for everything. He thinks he…” Dean pauses, gauging Cas’s expression before continuing. “He thinks he broke us up.”

 

Castiel nods, looking troubled. “I see.”

 

Dean waits for a moment, wondering if Cas will further his response. They need to talk about this properly. Skirting around it has helped nothing so far, and it's not helping now.

 

“He hasn’t.” Dean prompts, sick of waiting. “Has he?”

 

Castiel’s shoulders slump, and when his gaze slides to Dean, it’s filled with despair. He shakes his head. “Sam didn’t break us up, no.”

 

Dean nods, purposefully not questioning that. He holds onto it instead, like a lifeline, replaying the words in his mind and trying to convince himself that this means everything is okay.

 

“So, Sam's okay... what about you?” Dean asks, trying to sound nonchalant despite his genuine concern. The kid went through an ordeal yesterday, whether or not he initiated it. He's got to be having some internal issues. 

 

Castiel shrugs. "I'm fine." 

 

Dean tries not to let his gaze linger on the red bruise he knows he didn't place on Cas's neck. "Cool." 

 

There's a silence then, where both of them know what needs to be said, but can't bring themselves to get the words out. God, why is this so hard? Dean stifles a sigh. Why can't relationships be as simple as the rules of a football game or like fixing a car-

 

“Shit!” Dean cries out, eyes widening. He spins around on his chair, grabbing his alarm clock off the bedside table. Oh no, not now. And fuck, he’s late. He looks up at a surprised looking Cas, giving his best look of apology. Crap, this is unforgivable. “I gotta go to work, I completely forgot – I'm so sorry, Cas.”

 

He springs up off the chair, hands flying to his head. There’s no time to shower or change, he just needs to get down to the garage ASAP. He’s gonna have to leg it to the school parking lot as it is.

 

“You’re… going to work?” Castiel questions, his voice quiet. “Now?”

 

“I’m really sorry, Cas.” Dean tells him sincerely, taking a step towards him, intending to soothe his frown with a kiss, before remembering that’s probably not such a good idea right now. “We’ll finish talking later, I swear.”

 

“Dean.”

 

“I gotta run, Cas.” Dean says apologetically, darting for the door.

 

“ _Dean.”_

 

Dean hesitates, one foot through the door, staring at the hallway ahead. He tries not to consider what leaving now might mean for him and Cas, how it could affect things. He can't let Bobby down again though, the guy deserves better than that. He at least needs to explain himself. This talk can wait a bit longer, surely. It's waited this long. 

 

He steadfastly ignores the part of his brain that argues he's only leaving to avoid his problems further. 

 

“I’ll find you later.” He says weakly, and walks out of the door, not turning back because he feels like he’d crumble to pieces if he did.

 

* * *

 

 

He arrives at the garage 34 minutes late. He tries an inconspicuous entrance, which of course works as well as he should have expected, considering the last time he saw Bobby was right before he sprinted off the field in the middle of their final game of the season.

 

The guy is on high Dean-alert; he wheels over to him as soon as he pulls the Impala into the parking lot. Dean sits in the driver’s seat of his baby, trying to breathe, to stay calm. He can handle whatever’s about to happen. He grew up with John for Christ’s sake, he’s sure he can take a verbal pounding from Bobby.

 

He tries to be adult about it, even getting out of the car and holding his hands behind his back, soldier-style, the way his Dad always preferred him to stand when he was doing the telling-off.

 

Bobby wheels closer, and Dean’s jaw clenches. He readies himself for the first insult. Bobby’s gotta be pissed after all. Dean must have ruined the game for everyone.

 

“You okay, son?” Bobby asks in a calm, quiet voice, low enough that nobody else will hear him.

 

Dean blinks down at him in shock, taken aback by the concern in the guy’s expression. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. Bobby is supposed to kick his ass for what he did, not show he cares. Dean has no idea how to respond.

 

“Kinda scared me with that crap you pulled yesterday.” Bobby continues carefully, his fingers tapping against the wheels of his chair, like he’s uncomfortable with the conversation. “Wanna come get a drink o’water?”

 

Hot, stupid tears sting at Dean’s eyes, and he blinks them away fiercely, annoyed at himself. Oh, screw this. if Bobby refuses to be angry with him, it’s going to be so much harder to let him down. Because now that he’s thrown away his final chance to be anything, he’s going to have to tell Bobby his real plans for the future.

 

He’s pretty sure Bobby would’ve taken the news that Dean’s aspirations have dropped from football star to permanent grease-monkey much better if he were caught up in a fiery rage. Now, Dean’s going to have to calmly explain it to the guy, and he’s going to have to watch the disappointment blossoming in Bobby’s wise, fatherly eyes.

 

“Sure.” Dean croaks, just wanting to get it over with. He knows at least, that with Bobby, ‘water’ does not mean H2O. “What about the guys?”

 

Dean gestures to the other mechanics, all of whom glance over at them with questioning looks. Some of them smirk a little. He wonders what rumours are going round about him by this point. People could have made up a thousand reasons to explain why Dean ran out on the game.

 

He bets none of them are pretty.

 

“I’m hopin’ they got enough brains between ‘em to keep things runnin’ smoothly for a little while at least.” Bobby says loudly, and some of the other guys toss back some half-hearted, joking insults. They all love Bobby really, Dean knows that as well as anyone.

 

Bobby narrows his eyes at Dean, then wheels his chair around. “C’mon.”

 

Dean locks up the Impala and follows along after him, into the tiny office round the side of the workshop. He sits in the sole chair in front of the desk, and Bobby takes his place round the other side. It feels disturbingly habitual, and memories of sitting right here, just like this, flood Dean’s brain. He and Bobby used to make a habit of sitting back here, before Dean even worked here, talking and drinking, sometimes till late.

 

It hasn’t happened in a while. Dean misses it a bit.

 

“So.” Bobby says, fingers still drumming against his wheels. “You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

 

Dean stares at his surrogate father, wondering how on earth he would even try to begin. Bobby knows about Cas, but Dean’s pretty sure he’s never talked to Bobby about him directly. It’s too embarrassing. Bobby is family. Of course, it’s nowhere near as bad as considering trying to tell John, but still.

 

Instead of answering, Dean just sighs. “You got any o’that water you mentioned?”

 

Bobby rolls his eyes and mumbles something under his breath, but opens a desk drawer and pulls out a hip flask. He tosses it to Dean, who catches it easily, barely even noticing.

 

“Could’a used those reflexes in the second half o’the game last night.” Bobby says conversationally as Dean opens and sips from the flask.

 

“Oh, give it a rest.” Dean groans, wincing as the whiskey burns his throat. “I’m sorry, alright? It’s your own damn fault for puttin’ all your money on a deadbeat horse.”

 

He slides the flask across the desk to Bobby, who takes it, glaring at Dean from below his trucker’s cap. “Don’t get pissy with me. I’m playin’ nice but you’re in the doghouse, make no mistake.”

 

He pulls on the flask, taking a much longer drink than Dean. He screws the cap back on, then tosses it back. Dean catches it again, easily. He wonders if it would make this conversation any easier if he began dropping it.

 

Dean sighs. “Sorry.”

 

He drinks from the flask.

 

“Save it.” Bobby says, sounding tetchy now. “Just tell me what the Heck happened out there. You’re not exactly one for foldin’ under pressure.”

 

“I had an emergency.” Dean mumbles, taking another sip. “I didn’t have time to explain.”

 

“An emergency?” Bobby repeats, sounding sceptical. He raises an eyebrow. “Sam?”

 

Dean sighs again, staring up at the stained polystyrene tiles on the ceiling, trying to see faces in them. He wants to say yes, because that would probably satisfy Bobby if it were true – heck, he’s had to leave practice before in order to go make sure Sam is safe.

 

But Bobby would see through his lies. He's always been able to. It’s pointless to try.

 

“Kinda.” He tries instead, wondering if that will stop Bobby’s questions.

 

“You sure don’t make this easy, Dean.” Bobby says straightening his cap and sighing. “So if not Sam, then I’m guessin’ it’s the boyfriend, am I right?”

 

Dean pinkens, shifting in his seat. His drink of whiskey is long and plentiful this time. He hasn’t eaten anything today; it burns as it hits his hollow stomach.

 

“Hey, you gonna drink all that yourself?” Bobby asks, holding out his hand. “You’re legal now, bout time you bought your own damn whiskey.”

 

Dean sighs, sliding the flask back across the table. It’s working; he already feels the smog of tipsiness clouding his mind. It makes it a little easier to spit the words out.

 

“Fine, yes, Cas was involved.” Dean says, fidgeting again. He can’t meet Bobby’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter now, he’s fine, Sam’s fine. But at the time, I needed to go.”

 

Bobby nods, seeming, for a reason incomprehensible to Dean, to accept this.

 

“And you?” Bobby asks.

 

Dean looks up at him, confused. “Me?”

 

“Are you fine?”

 

Dean rolls his eyes. He even lets out a small chuckle. “As I’ll ever be.”

 

Bobby leans forwards then, eyes narrowed. He leans his forearms on the desk. “Dean, you look like shit.”

 

“Wow.” Dean responds, chuckling again. He brings his thumb and forefinger up to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Thanks, Bobby. Needed that.”

 

“I’m not kidding around, Dean.” Bobby says, his tone weirdly serious. “You think I took you back here for a heart-to-heart? I’m not letting you work lookin’ like that.”

 

Dean feels his defences slam into place as soon as the words leave Bobby’s mouth. “Fuck that!” Dean cries, slamming a hand down on the table. “I’m here aren’t I? For God’s sake Bobby, I’m sorry I lost you your precious game but don’t be ridiculous – you know I need the money!”

 

Bobby’s eyebrows furrow, and then he laughs a little. “You think you lost us the game?”

 

Dean pauses, feeling his anger subside a little as bewilderment takes its place. “…You mean…”

 

“You’re one egotistical son of a bitch, that’s for damn sure.” Bobby says. He laughs again. “Garth was extremely excited to step in when you made your little Cinderella exit.”

 

Dean’s eyebrows raise in surprise. He slumps back in his chair. It’s so weird that he hadn’t even considered the possibility the team might have won without him. Damn, he really is egotistical.

 

“Whatever.” Dean mumbles, though he smiles a little. “I warmed up the field for him.”

 

“That brings me to my other point.” Bobby says, leaning back in his chair. He folds his arms over his chest, studying Dean for a moment, as though deliberating something in his mind. “I’m guessin’ you wanna have a little talk with me about your future. Am I right about that?”

 

Dean’s blood runs cold. How the heck does he know this kind of stuff? Bobby can read him like a damn open book; he needs to be more guarded around the guy.

 

“Bobby…” Dean begins, ready to launch into his pre-prepared speech about how sorry he is for letting him down, and how he’s giving up his own dreams for Sam, and that it’s noble and Bobby shouldn’t be sad.

 

But Bobby interrupts him. “You’re a real goddamned idjit, you know that?”

 

Dean laughs, perhaps a little drunkenly, bowing his head. “Yeah.”

 

“I tape all of your games, you damn fool.” Bobby says, reaching into another drawer and pulling out a VHS tape of all things. Dean stares down at the object, one eyebrow raised. Bobby shrugs. “Could never get the hang o’those DVD whaddyamacallits. This works fine.”

 

“You… you tape my games?” Dean repeats, trying to work out the relevance of this to talks of his future.

 

Bobby nods. “And practices.”

 

“That’s… a little creepy.” Dean admits, staring at the VHS tape, eyes wide. “You just keep this here? Dude, you didn’t even tell me!”

 

“Shut up.” Bobby says, rolling his eyes. “Typical Dean Winchester, firin’ off insults instead o’saying thanks, God forbid.”

 

Dean looks up at Bobby, incredulous. “Why the fuck would I say thank you?”

 

Bobby shakes his head, looking skyward. “Idgit.” He whispers into the air. “I showed your tape to the talent scout who came to yesterday’s game.”

 

Dean freezes, his body suddenly paralysed with shock. His mouth falls open a short way, and a halo of light seems to surround Bobby’s scruffy, sour-looking face.

 

Holy shit.

 

“Dean,” Bobby continues when Dean says nothing in response, “they wanna draft you, screwhead.”

 

Dean’s breath catches in his throat, and it rapidly turns into a lump, heavy and solid, holding back his tears. He stares at Bobby in disbelief, a huge surge of hope struggling to break free inside of him, but he doesn’t let it. It can’t be real, this shit doesn’t happen to him. He already threw away his future. This can’t be _real_.

 

“Still wanna have that talk about your future?” Bobby asks, smirking a little. Dean lets out a quiet noise of pure, agonised shock.

 

He jumps out of his seat, running round to the other side of the desk to encircle Bobby in his arms. “Bobby, you beautiful, beautiful bastard.”

 

“Get off me, y’idgit.” Bobby says, pushing him away, though he’s smiling, Dean can hear it in his voice.

 

Just to make it clear how much he appreciates this, Dean plants a kiss on Bobby’s cheek. “You’re literally the best.”

 

“Alright, alright, enough o’the chick-flick moment.” Bobby says gruffly, wiping his cheek with his sleeve. Dean runs his hands through his hair, still in pure disbelief. “I wasn’t kiddin’ about you lookin’ like shit, Dean. Go home, you’re not workin’ today.”

 

Dean laughs, almost hysterically, glancing down at Bobby. “Sure, whatever boss.” He says, jogging to the door of the office. He pauses, turning back, unable to keep the enormous grin off his face. “You know what, actually? I quit!”

 

Bobby rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I figured, hot shot. Get outta here.”

 

“Fuck!” Dean exclaims. He jabs a finger in Bobby's direction, the elation making him a little nuts, he's aware. “I’m gonna go kiss my boyfriend!”

 

Bobby screws up his face. “I don’t need to know that.”

 

“Love you too, Bobby!” Dean calls as he runs out of the building.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean sprints back to the frat house at top speed, thanking every goddamned lucky charm he ever collected, every God in every religion, every damn happenstance that led him to today, to now.

 

For the first time in a long time, Dean feels hopeful. He feels hopeful about _himself_ , which he can’t remember feeling since he was five years old. Now, when he thinks about the future, it’s not endless monotony, it’s not plastering on a fake smile while everyone else gets everything they ever want – it’s the actual real possibility that Dean, himself, might be happy.

 

Everything is uncertain, and Dean hasn’t felt like that in years. He grins all the way through campus, paying no attention to the students that eye him curiously, all probably wondering what has him looking like a delirious maniac.

 

And right now, Dean feels hopeful about _Cas._ Ever since he met the guy, he’s had an uncomfortable and slowly growing nodule of fear blooming in his stomach. The fear was of the future of their relationship, and the fact that the harder Dean fell for him, the harder he was going to fall when it inevitably ended.

 

But now? Everything is suddenly, miraculously different.

 

Sure, anyone would agree that Castiel Novak does not deserve to be the partner of a lowlife, a nobody, without a career, without prospects. That’s the only reason Dean had ever considered letting him go.

 

Dean has, until today, had no reason to ever suspect he’d be anything other than a perpetual mechanic, always broke, never good enough for someone like Cas. And then, out of the sky, he’s plucked from the thousands, told he’s good enough to be a _professional_ level footballer. It’s the stuff of dreams.

 

It's the kind of thing that can make everything okay. With a job like that, Dean can provide for Sam easily, can make his life a cakewalk, and at the same time he can place himself by Cas’s side and say that he almost might be, one day, good enough for him.

 

Any moment, Dean fully expects to trip over a pebble, land face-first in the dirt and wake up in his empty bed, his dreams ripped away from him. But it doesn’t happen. He keeps running. He has to get to Cas now, before it’s too late, before he gives up on Dean completely.

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel wanders from room to room aimlessly, filtering through the throngs of people with a vague, melancholy dissociation from it all. These people have been in Dean’s house for hours now. There seems to be no getting rid of them. Many of them are still in their pyjamas because the spectacle of the Kappa Sigma house losing their charter was an early morning event.

 

It’s a Monday, Cas thinks. Why is nobody in class?

 

“Hey, bro!” Gabriel cries, grabbing Cas by the collar of his shirt and pulling him over to stand at the edge of the room.

 

Gabriel is flanked by Meg, Sam, Anna, Charlie and Garth. Castiel nods at them all, and they each give him sympathetic looks, as though well aware of his situation with Dean. Castiel wonders how much they actually know. Anna, Gabriel and Meg probably know the most, he thinks idly, not that any of it matters.

 

Someone hands him a drink and he takes it, sipping without tasting. This is such a metaphor for his life, Cas thinks. A perpetual party he is doomed to stand on the outskirts of.

 

“God, Cassy I can _feel_ the depression rolling off you.” Gabe says, sounding irritated. “Forget Dean for like two seconds, would you?”

 

“I thought you guys were gonna talk things out?” Sam pipes up, sounding vaguely hopeful.

 

Castiel shrugs, drinking a little more. “Dean had to go to work.”

 

Anna and Gabriel exchange worried glances.

 

“I’m sure he would have stayed if he could.” Anna says soothingly, her face pitying. God, Castiel had thought he was over wanting to punch her.

 

He shoots her a fake smile. “Yeah.”

 

“Hey, look on the bright side.” Meg says, resting an arm on Anna’s shoulder. Anna glares at Meg like she wants to shrug it off. “At least you didn’t _actually_ sleep with Bart. Take it from me, he’s got some weird fetishes.”

 

Castiel blushes hard, staring into his drink. Anna takes Meg by the wrist, furious, and leads her off into the crowd, whispering angrily.

 

“I, um,” Castiel mutters, not looking at anyone, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

 

He slips away before anyone can respond, leaving his drink on a nearby surface. He decides that he actually will go to the bathroom, at least it will give him something to do. He could always go home, of course, but back in his room all that awaits him is his empty bed and the knowledge that Dean might never be in it again.

 

He queues for a few minutes, pretending to text on his phone so nobody will talk to him, and finally slips inside the bathroom, locking the door with a relieved sigh. For a few minutes, at least, he is alone.

 

He thinks about his and Dean’s conversation earlier, how Dean had just walked out on him rather than staying to talk it through. His back is against the door, and his head thumps against the wood, listening to the shouts of party-goers on the other side.

 

Why is it so difficult? All he wants is Dean. That shouldn’t cause such mess or pain. He and Dean just want to be with each other.

 

It feels like it’s ending, like they’re inching closer and closer to a cliff’s edge but nothing Castiel does or says can stop it. He knows he helped things along by what he did with Bart, of course he knows. And the fact that all of it turned out to be pointless because Kappa Sigma were defeated anyway – well that doesn’t help keep the heartache at bay.

 

He wishes Dean would just abandon this idea that he’s not good enough for Cas or to have a decent life, but unless a fucking miracle occurs, Cas is pretty sure that’s not going to happen. John Winchester made sure of that with twelve years of bullying and abuse. If Castiel ever meets that asshole, he's not going to be able to stop himself from punching the guy in the face, he's sure.

 

Someone pounds on the door from the other side.

 

“Hey, do you mind? There are people waiting out here!”

 

Castiel sighs, wandering over to the toilet to flush it, giving the illusion of normalcy. He stares at the water whirlpooling away. Maybe he should just go home.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean searches for twenty minutes in his own house before he finds anyone he knows well enough to ask about Cas. A few people congratulate him on the news of being drafted, which baffles Dean completely – how the heck do people _know_ this stuff so quickly? But he thanks them anyway, all smiles, and backs away slowly in search of the one person he actually cares about enough to talk to.

 

Instead, he finds Gabriel.

 

Gabe stares him down, all narrowed eyes and menace, managing to look damn intimidating considering he’s around half Dean’s size.

 

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asks him breathlessly, not in the mood for any of Gabriel’s mind-games.

 

“Prob’ly blubbing into your pillow.” Gabriel spits. “Fuck off, Winchester.”

 

“Nice.” Dean says, wondering what exactly Gabriel is so angry with him for now, though of course he has a billion reasons in his arsenal. “Please, Gabe? I actually…” Dean lets out a huff of a laugh. “I think everythin’ might be okay.”

 

“That’s one I never heard before.” Gabriel says, rolling his eyes. “At least not while you weren’t begging me on your knees.”

 

Dean blushes, remembering that scenario well. “Gabe, I get it, you think I’m a piece of shit, but-”

 

“I saw him go upstairs.” Sam says out of nowhere, appearing to Gabriel’s right. He’s clutching a cup of what Dean sincerely hopes is apple juice, though he finds that he barely even cares right now. Gabriel glares daggers at Sam, a look of utter betrayal in his eyes, and Sam shrugs. “What? I need to make amends.”

 

Gabriel rolls his eyes, shoving Sam lightly in the shoulder, though it’s clear he’s not really mad.

 

“Thanks, kiddo.” Dean says gratefully, leaning in to grab Sammy in a headlock and kiss his stupid mess of hair.

 

He whirls on the spot then, running to the stairs, and takes them two at a time. People dart out of his way, seeming mildly scared by his determination to reach the landing, and in his hurry, Dean actually collides with another body, leaving the bathroom as Dean reaches the top.

 

The other person is actually knocked over by the speed with which Dean was hurtling upwards, and Dean clambers off him immediately, an apology on his lips.

 

They lock eyes.

 

It’s Cas.

 

Every single word Dean had planned to say at this moment swims happily out of his brain, of course. He stares down at Cas underneath him, drowning in the cobalt blue of his wide, mildly terrified eyes.

 

“Small world.” Dean mutters, and the sound of his voice seems to jolt Cas back into the physical world. He hits at Dean’s arms lightly, glaring a little, telling him wordlessly to get off. Okay, yeah, Dean had sort of forgotten that Cas would be mad at him for walking out on their talk earlier. “Sorry.”

 

Dean untangles himself as best he can, getting to his knees and finding Cas’s hand, trying to help him up. Castiel pulls his hand back as though scalded. 

 

“What are you doing here?” He hisses, his voice quiet. Dean wonders why until he casts a look around, noting the many eyes watching them, giggling behind their fingers. “I thought you couldn’t miss work?”

 

Yep, definitely mad, Dean thinks, wincing at the scathing tone. He opens his mouth to explain himself, and finds that someone interrupts him. 

 

“Way to sweep your boyfriend off his feet, Winchester.” The someone calls out, and Dean rolls his eyes, trying to ignore it. "I'd pin him to the ground if I saw him that wasted too!" 

 

Dean grimaces, trying to block it out. He'll deal with scumbags later. Castiel casts his eyes downwards, face burning.

 

“Yeah, I, uh,” Dean starts to say, getting distracted by Castiel’s expression, “I got sent home.”

 

Castiel nods, folding his arms across his chest. “You seemed pretty excited about something just then.”

 

“No kidding!” The obnoxious voice to their left shouts again. “Why don't you stop being a tease and do something about it?”

 

“Fuck off.” Dean growls in the direction of the voice. He leans closer to Cas, trying to keep his voice down. “You wanna go somewhere and talk more?”

 

Castiel leans away from him a little but shrugs and nods, turning to head down the hall.

 

“You bet he does!” The person shouts again, and Dean whirls round, ready to hit whoever this asshole is, but Castiel is suddenly in front of him, face red and fists clenched.

 

“I am not some fucktoy here for Dean’s amusement!” Cas shouts, making several mouths drop wide open. “I’m a _person._ If you’re so interested in my sexual appetite, why don’t you go jerk off to the picture of me under your pillow and take your derogatory, butthurt comments with you!”

 

With that, Castiel storms away, down the hall towards Dean’s room, while Dean just stands there trying to process what he just heard. The crowd seems to disperse, at least. Dean can't even focus enough to work out who the heckling asshole had been. After a few moments, he follows Cas slowly, a little cautious of him now.

 

How mad is he? Should Dean prepare himself? Fuck, Cas ripped that guy to shreds. He closes the door behind him when he enters his room, eyes fixed on Cas like he’s a wild animal in a zoo.

 

“What the Hell was that?” Dean asks, genuinely curious.

 

“Forget it.” Cas spits, glaring at him. “It may have slipped your notice, what with all the better things you've had to do recently, but people have been spreading some pretty shitty rumours about me.”

 

Dean tries to ignore the jab tucked into Cas’s words. “Rumours?”

 

“I guess it takes a guy physically sticking his tongue down my throat before you actually notice it.” Cas growls, eyes venomous as they meet Dean’s. He rears up, ready to shout back a retort, but swallows it down quickly, knowing Cas has a point. “But yeah, the rumours are about me, and what exactly you do to me, and how much I beg you for it.”

 

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “Shit! Really?”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Yes, really.” He pauses, sounding disgusted. His fingers claw at his own arms, and Dean watches, fascinated and abhorred. How has he not noticed this behaviour in him until now? Is what he's saying true? “Apparently I’m a sort of conquest among certain types.”

 

Dean feels his blood simmering, then boiling, and it’s fucking delicious. He needs to smite, _now,_ needs to make every sorry sucker pay for every ounce of pain they ever made Cas feel. Castiel is _his,_ nobody else’s, and he’ll make sure they remember that.

 

“Which types? I’ll kick the ass of every last one of ‘em.” He says, his voice rising as he considers the idea.

 

Castiel sighs, gaze sliding over to him. “Why?”

 

Dean blinks, stuck for words. “What do you mean, ‘why’? Cause… cause they’re fuckin’ dreaming that’s why!” Dean laughs a little. He strides over to Cas, grabbing him by the waist, trying not to notice the uncomfortable look on Cas’s features. “You’re mine, got that? Nobody gets to say that shit to you – nobody.”

 

“For Christ’s sake, Dean.” Castiel mutters, rolling his eyes again. Dean furrows his brow. “You must be able to see that this is only getting you excited because you love the feeling of possessiveness, of jealousy – it’s got nothing to do with how these people are actually making me _feel-_ ”

 

“That’s not true.” Dean barks. His hands go from Cas’s waist to slide gingerly over his arms. He sees Cas wince in pain, though he tries to hide it. “You don’t really think it, either.” He brings one of Cas’s forearms up to his face for inspection. Deep red lines have been clawed into the skin, breaking it in some places. Dean’s eyes sting. He kisses the flesh softly. He hears Cas let out a whimper. “I love you, Cas. Don’t act like you’ve forgotten. When I think about any jealous little fuckboy tearing you down just cause they can’t have you, I wanna rip them apart. How dare they make you feel like that.”

 

A tear escapes from Cas’s eye. He wipes it away quickly, pulling his arm free of Dean’s grasp. “Yeah, well. Even if that’s true.” Castiel swallows thickly, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “If I’m not yours, then you can’t go around defending me.”

 

Dean stays stock still. They’re weirdly close to each other to not be touching, but Dean doesn’t feel like stepping away is much of an option for him right now.

 

“Since when are you not mine?” He asks, his voice a husk of a whisper. He feels completely drained, as though the breath carrying Cas’s next words could knock him over completely.

 

Please, he prays to anyone listening, let Cas say he didn’t mean it. He can make this okay now, he knows how.

 

Cas stares at Dean, silent. Eventually, he lets out a breath. “Isn’t that where this is heading, Dean?” His voice is softer now, but it's no comfort. 

 

Dean shakes his head, his voice having left him.

 

“You want to break us up eventually because of your plans for the future.” Castiel says, tiredly, as though he's repeated these words a thousand times. “And I tried to break us up in anticipation of that. We might as well just…”

 

“Cas, baby,” Dean whispers, his hand going to rest against Cas’s cheek; Cas flinches - at the endearment or the touch, Dean isn’t sure which, “listen to me.”

 

Castiel closes his eyes. “It’s okay, Dean. I know why you have to do this. I just don’t want to be afraid of it anymore.”

 

“Cas, no, look at me,” Dean says, pleading. Reluctantly, Cas’s eyes open; his dark lashes are wet with tears. Absurdly, Dean smiles at him, and Cas looks more confused than ever. “I got drafted.”

 

Castiel says nothing for a moment, just staring at him in shock. Dean waits patiently, knowing from experience that the information takes some time to settle in. Slowly but surely, like a rainbow after a hideous storm, a smile begins to spread across Cas’s face. Lights flicker like candles behind the blue of Cas’s eyes, and Dean feels soft, barely there fingers grabbing at the hem of his shirt.

 

“Oh my God.” Castiel murmurs, his smile widening as he pulls Dean towards him. “Come here.”

 

Dean falls gladly against Cas’s lips, so happy to be invited at last, and he sinks into the sensation, smiling along with Cas, reliving the news over again along with him.

 

Castiel whispers ‘I knew it’, ‘I knew you would’ over and over again as they kiss, and it makes Dean’s heart soar when he realises that Cas actually believed in him this whole time, even when he didn’t believe in himself.

 

“Wh-what does this mean?” Cas laughs into his mouth. “Are you going to do it? Are you-”

 

Dean’s arms wind around him, and almost without thinking, he pushes Cas back onto the bed, falling with him, just continuing the kiss for as long as possible until Cas pushes him away, inevitably.

 

“What do you think it means?” Dean says, kissing over Cas’s jaw, aware he’s taking advantage of Cas’s momentary happiness, but finding it hard to care. “You’re now dating an awesome, soon-to-be rich and famous professional footballer, so shut up and kiss me.”

 

Castiel giggles excitedly, kissing him as told, hands threading into Dean’s hair. God, he’s missed this.

 

“Wait,” Cas whispers, the anxiety filtering back into his voice. The kisses slow, then stop. Dean sighs, having expected this was too good to be true. “Does this mean, maybe…" Cas bites his lip, worrying. "...you might see a future for us?”

 

Dean lies down beside him then, their faces so close that their noses almost touch. He smiles at Cas, finding his hand, and feeling the relief flood through him when Cas doesn’t pull away this time.

 

“I kinda realised somethin’ when Bobby told me.” Dean says, his thumb stroking over the back of Cas’s hand. Castiel seems to hold his breath, expectant and fearful of what Dean might say. “Sure, I’d planned my life out before. I was gonna be a miserable fucker with a shitty job and a happy but concerned kid brother.” Castiel frowns, averting his eyes. Dean tilts his chin up with his spare hand, forcing their eyes to meet again. “I didn’t really take you into account though. I decided what was best for you would be not being with me, without even a discussion.” Dean squeezes his hand. “And I go around sayin’ I love you and care about you more than anyone else. It doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“Dean, I love you more than anything in the world,” Castiel says, his voice croaky, “and I can’t describe what it would do to me if we were to part, but… I would understand. You’d be doing it for Sam.”

 

Dean smiles again, a fist closing around his heart upon hearing yet again how much Cas is willing to sacrifice for him. “I just want you to be happy, Cas. And I used to think that eventually… you’d grow unhappy with me. So I thought ending it now, well… at least we’d still be in a good place with each other, y’know? It wouldn’t have had time to turn bad.”

 

“And now?” Cas asks, sounding desperate. Dean’s hand starts to hurt with how hard Cas is squeezing it.

 

“I think maybe now…” Dean quirks an embarrassed smile. “I could make you happy. Indefinitely. Y’know, if you still want that. If I haven’t fucked everything up too badly.”

 

Castiel’s eyes sparkle; even in the low light Dean can see he's on the verge of crying. He wants to comfort Cas, but he doesn’t know how. Maybe he’s said the wrong thing again. Maybe this will be the moment that Cas tearfully finishes things forever. He wouldn’t blame the guy. He’s put Cas through more than a lot of crap over the last few months alone.

 

“Dean,” Cas whispers, moving closer to him somehow; Dean inhales deeply, relishing the feel of Cas’s breath against his lips. “Without you, I don’t have a future.”

 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean says, his voice breaking as he closes the distance between them, their lips meeting messily, clumsily, Dean’s heart straining under the weight of Cas’s words. He kisses Cas until his breaths are stammered and uneven, trying to show how much he cares through touch alone.

 

He pushes Cas onto his back, climbing on top of him and pinning him to the bed. He lets Cas’s hands explore his body, raking down his back, pushing into his hair. He knows Cas probably can’t breathe properly, but he doesn’t stop, and regardless – Cas doesn’t seem to want him to.

 

“I’m not gonna leave you,” Dean promises, whispering the words against Cas’s skin, listening to him whimper in response.

 

After a moment, Castiel turns his face away, and Dean is left kissing the tears running down his cheek. “I don’t think… I don’t think I believe you.”

 

Dean pauses, nodding in understanding. He turns Cas’s face back towards him, trying to show his sincerity in his gaze. “I get it, Cas. I do.” A tear slides out of Cas’s left eye. “I know it’s a lot to ask you to trust me after everything I’ve put you through. But please, please know I will spend as long as it takes tryin’ to convince you.”

 

Cas nods, more tears spilling over, and Dean kisses him again so he doesn’t have to see. This time, the kiss is languorous, sweet even, and Cas sort of melts beneath him, giving in completely, just as Dean totally doesn’t deserve.

 

Dean kisses down Cas’s throat, mouthing at his fluttering pulse, sucking marks against his soft, stubbled skin. He unbuttons Cas’s shirt and peppers kisses across his chest, his fingers dipping into the spaces between his ribs, clutching him tightly in both hands, feeling the weight of him.

 

Cas gasps out tiny, measured breaths into the air, clutching at every part of Dean he can reach. He wants to be loud, Dean can tell, he wants to moan and shout and curse Dean’s name, but he’s being quiet because of the people outside the door, probably listening intently, wanting to keep up with the gossip that just so happens to be his and Cas's lives. 

 

It’s not fair that they have to be quiet now. None of what they’ve been through is even remotely fair, and this should be as sweet and perfect as they deserve. He crawls back up to look Cas in the eye, ducking in close to whisper.

 

“Hey,” he says, an idea forming haphazardly in his mind, “come with me.”

 

He takes hold of Cas’s hand, climbing slowly off the bed. Castiel’s brows furrow, but he follows Dean without a word, stepping after him a little blearily perhaps, seeming unsteady on his feet. He's probably been drinking, Dean thinks idly, after all, it is a party. Dean leads him to the door, then out into the hall, his eyes peeled for anyone else. There are some party-goers darting in and out of the upstairs rooms, shrieking and laughing, spilling their drinks over the carpet.

 

Dean pulls Cas along, not making eye contact with any of them, and somehow, thankfully, they manage to slip past most of them unnoticed. They reach the end of the hall then, and Dean looks around himself carefully, making sure there are no witnesses to what he's about to do. Quickly, smoothly, he opens the door to the bathroom, for which the queue has now miraculously dispersed. 

 

He motions for Cas to stay quiet, not wanting to attract drunken attention, and then, when he's sure it's safe, ushers Cas inside. Cas lets Dean manoeuvre him without protest, and says nothing even when Dean shuts and locks the door after them. If any of this reminds him of his escapades with Bart, he doesn't show it, too happy to just stare at Dean in hopeful wonder.

 

“What are we-” Cas tries to say, but Dean cuts him off with a kiss, threading his fingers into the mess of black hair atop his head and pulling until Cas’s knees weaken. Dean catches hold of him by the waist before he falls to the floor, smiling against his lips. 

 

He pulls away, propping Cas against a nearby wall for a moment. Cas just watches him breathlessly, stunned to silence by Dean's lips alone. It does nothing but fuel Dean's ego, truly. He turns on his heel, walking to the tub, and reaching in to switch on the shower. 

 

As he waits for it to warm up, he heads back over to Cas, noticing on the way that the chain from the toilet is not in its rightful place, and is instead perched atop the mirror above the sink. Huh, he thinks, frowning at it briefly, well that explains why there's no queue of people outside. The toilet must be bust. 

 

Oh, well. There's another one downstairs, let them figure it out, he thinks. Or maybe, even better, they might actually fuck off back to their own houses. 

 

The noise of the shower drowns everything, just as Dean hoped. The music of the party, the chatter, the sounds of glasses smashing and doors slamming, it all disappears under the rush of water pounding against tile. He sidles up to Cas slowly, slipping his hands round the kid's waist before he leans in to kiss him. His shirt is almost all the way open anyway, so Dean finishes the job, pushing it off his shoulders in one, easy motion. 

 

"Shower time, baby." Dean says, his voice low, his lips by Cas's ear. He feels Cas shuddering and smirks, pressing his lips to the exposed skin of Cas's throat. 

 

After a moment of what Dean assumes to be shock, Cas begins reaching for the hem of Dean’s t-shirt, his fingers scrabbly as he pushes it up around his arm pits. Dean breaks away briefly, pulling it all the way off and throwing it to the floor. 

 

It's really quite wonderful that Cas doesn't even question Dean's plan. He's so trusting, bless his heart, he'll follow Dean into any mad venture, whether it's a sudden whim for shower sex or any one of Dean's crazy, spontaneous ideas. He kisses Cas harder, unable to stop thinking of how ridiculously lucky he is, having someone this perfect, this willing, this madly in love with him. 

 

How could he ever have thought anything was more important than this?

 

Their fingers fly to the buttons of each other’s pants, tugging and working them with determination, not allowing themselves to break the kiss. In seconds the pants are gone too, pooled at their feet, both of them suddenly filled with need to get this underway, to have each other naked again, to kiss and touch and writhe.

 

Dean has been hard since he crawled on top of Cas on his bed not that long ago, but seeing the evidence of Cas’s arousal only makes him harder. He slides his hand under the waistband of Cas’s underwear, feeling it for himself, his fingers curling around Cas’s cock as Cas gasps into his open mouth.

 

“Off.” Dean commands, and Cas pushes the underwear away, letting it fall to his ankles.

 

Then he reaches for Dean’s, his small hands removing it at once; Dean lets out a hiss of pleasure as the steamy, damp air engulfs his erection.

 

It’s been some time since he’s felt Cas’s hands now (a couple of days at least), and the first touch of him is like lightning; he moans needily into Cas’s mouth as he feels a hand wrap around him, and Cas swallows it greedily, tongue flicking against Dean’s, wanting more.

 

It’s about then that Dean remembers the shower, and mmm yeah that's a really nice thought, so he glances behind himself, and reaches down to sweep Cas into his arms. Cas yelps in surprise, but clings on, allowing Dean to carry him like he always does, totally trusting. 

 

He doesn't ask questions as Dean puts him down carefully, under the spray, not wanting him to slip. He just goes with it, the water cascading over Cas’s hair, turning it to thick, black treacle, and over his face, clinging to every sharp angle, to the jut of his pastel pink lips.

 

Dean looks at him standing there, mesmerised by the sight of him like this, feeling the blood in his groin pumping in sluggish want. It's at that moment that he realises the two of them have never done this before. He would have definitely remembered something this beautiful. 

 

He pauses to drink it in, then climbs in himself, Cas's hands reaching for him, pulling him under the water. As Dean steps in, eyes closed against the sensation of the warm, delicious droplets streaming over him, he hears Castiel suck in a little gasp. His eyes flick open, blinking away the droplets that have collected on his eyelashes.

 

He chuckles a little, finding his own expression of wonderment mirrored on Cas’s face.

 

“Are you also thinking that it’s strange this is the first time we’ve done this?” Cas asks, practically whispering. His fingers come up to trace the contours of Dean's cheekbone. His thumb wipes some of the water from Dean's lower lip. 

 

Dean smiles at him, hands coming up to grip at Cas's bare waist. “Yeah. How dumb are we?" He leans in, licking up a stream of water that's falling from the ends of Cas's hair to his collarbone. "You look so fucking hot all wet like this.”

 

Before Cas can reply with more than a strangled little whine, Dean is kissing him again, this time pushing him back against the cold tiled wall of the shower, slightly out of the spray. Cas yelps again because it must be freezing against his bare back, but he rolls with it surprisingly quickly, hands busily roaming over every part of Dean he can get to.

 

Dean wastes no time. He’s blind as the water cascades down on them, but he reaches down nonetheless, to the area behind Cas’s shins, where a ton of gels and shampoos are kept, grabbing the nearest one he can get ahold of.

 

He ducks back out of the spray once he's grabbed it, staring down at what he picked up.

 

‘Forest Scents Men’s Shower Gel’ the label reads. Dean raises his eyebrows at it. He shrugs. It’ll probably work.

 

When he looks back at Cas, he wears a look of pleading impatience, so Dean decides to just hurry the fuck up and worry about other stuff later. He pours a generous amount of the shower gel into his hand and leans in, throwing the bottle to the floor with a loud clatter.

 

He starts by smoothing the stuff across Cas's chest, then down to his reddened arms, rubbing them soothingly as Cas whimpers into his mouth. Then, before he's used it all up, Dean brings his gelled hand down to Cas’s cock again, clasping hold and starting to pump gently, straining to hear every noise falling from Cas’s lips over the cacophony of the shower. He knows this has gotta feel good. This shower gel is damn slippery, and he doesn’t want to fuck about wasting time by teasing Cas. Instead, he goes straight for Cas's most sensitive spots, thumb gliding over each of them until Cas's breaths become short and stuttered. 

 

He thinks about sucking Cas off, and the mere thought of him has his dick twitching with serious interest, but he decides against it – he might accidentally drown himself under the spray somehow, and that wouldn’t be sexy at all.

 

Besides, he has other ideas. He guides his hand carefully over Cas’s balls, then back into the cleft of his ass, stroking slowly over the hole there, feeling Cas shiver against him.

 

“”Fuck,” Cas whispers, sounding pretty gone.

 

Dean brings his lips to Cas’s ear. “You don’t have to be quiet, baby.”

 

“Unngh,” Cas moans, a little louder. Dean nips at the lobe of Cas's ear, encouraging him. “Dean, fuck, get some lube.”

 

Dean grins against his ear, biting softly. “Why?”

 

Castiel whines, knowing that Dean is teasing him. “So you can fuck me. Please.”

 

Dean leans back to grin at him, making sure to maintain eye contact as he drops to a crouch, right at crotch level. The look Cas sends down to him is practically a glare, which makes Dean want to laugh. He's clearly ridiculously turned on by this point, so Dean decides to be an asshole and press a kiss to his upper thigh.

 

Castiel looks skyward, his eyes falling shut. “Asshole.”

 

God, Dean wants to fuck him. He wants to climb inside of Cas and hear him moaning his name, wants to hear love and forgiveness spill from his lips, wants to have Cas fall apart around him, on top of him. But that insult... that was a little rude. Maybe he should punish Cas for it. 

 

He brings his hand up to pump Cas's cock gently again, intending to begin the process of drawing out Cas's orgasm, delaying it for as long as possible as punishment for what he said. 

 

"God, Dean," Castiel pants, realising what's happening, "please fuck me. I'm going insane. It's been so long... I just wanna feel you, please..."

 

Dean's hand stops moving, and he stares, awestruck as Castiel's eyes fall closed, his head thumping back against the tile. Okay, fuck the punishment, Dean decides quickly, who could say no to that kind of request?

 

"Okay, baby." Dean whispers, not sure if Cas even hears him. 

 

He really needs to find that lube. He scrabbles around on the floor of the tub for the shower gel he just dropped. After a few moments, he finds it, holding it aloft in triumph.

 

“No way.” Cas says firmly, and Dean looks up at him, surprised. Is he having mood swings, or... “You’re not fucking me with that.”

 

“What, the bottle?” Dean asks, looking down at it in consideration. “Uh… I wasn’t gonna…”

 

Cas kicks the bottle out of his hand, sending it clattering against the floor of the tub. “Not the bottle. The gel. It’s an irritant. It’s not safe.”

 

Dean blinks at him, a smile forming on his lips. God, what a beautiful nerd he has here. “Lovin’ the dirty talk, Cas.”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’ve read up on it, alright? I had to. For when…” He colours, and Dean cottons on immediately, realising Cas is talking about their switching session. “Just get something else.”

 

Dean does as told without a word, ignoring the burn in his cheeks. It's ridiculous to feel embarrassed about it, he's well aware, but he can't tell his body that for some reason. He reaches behind Cas again, taking a moment to bite at his thigh, then pulling out some of the bottles and tubs to hold up for inspection. “This work?”

 

Castiel peers at it. “Shampoo? Dean, don’t be absurd.”

 

Dean sighs, exasperated. “You wanna help me out here, I got no clue what I’m doin’.”

 

“I thought you were the sexpert in the relationship.” Castiel grumbles, crouching beside Dean to look. Dean looks at Cas in mock scorn, pushing him so he wobbles slightly.

 

“You want me to fuck you or not?”

 

Castiel smirks and pushes some bottles aside. “Here.” He says, pulling out a sort of jar and holding it out as he stands. “Coconut oil. That’s fine.”

 

“You’re such a nerd.” Dean mumbles, taking the jar from Cas’s fingers.

 

He straightens, smirking as he pushes Cas back against the wall again, tongue working its way into Cas’s mouth, twining with him until he groans, hands groping at Dean's ass. Dean pushes his hips towards Cas, grinding them together softly, which feels fucking amazing, obviously, especially given the heat of their bodies under the spray of the shower. Cas’s hands slide up his back, fingernails raking over his skin.

 

When he feels this, Dean moans in encouragement, wanting Cas to dig in harder, to score Dean’s flesh with the same marks he left on his own arms. Dean deserves it far more, after all.

 

“Stop thinking.” Cas tells him, grabbing hold of the jar in Dean’s hands and unscrewing the lid, holding it out for Dean.

 

Dean’s fingers plunge into the strange, viscous oil, and he scoops out a great deal of it, biting his lip as he rubs it between his fingers. It melts in his hands like butter, and he brings his hand down, not wanting to wait any longer.

 

Cas gasps as Dean’s fingers reach behind him, find his entrance again, and this time he slips one finger inside, the oil slicking the way. Cas keens and gasps, one leg wrapping around Dean's to pull him closer.

 

Dean just continues, wanting more from him, sliding his finger in as far as it will go. Damn, he can’t wait to be inside of Cas again. It’s been too long, now. It feels like years since they came together like this.

 

Cas’s fingers claw at his shoulders, his eyes screwed shut. “More.” He croaks. “Please, Dean. More.”

 

Well, again, Dean couldn’t possibly say no to such a polite request. He adds a second finger with surprising ease, and finds that he’s really enjoying this coconut oil, though fuck knows which of the Psi Delta Alpha’s are using this shit in their morning showers.

 

Maybe it’s a leftover from one of their one night stand’s. The fragrant, exotic scent of coconut fills the air around them, infusing the steam that clouds the bathroom, making it seem like they're somewhere completely different, rather than crammed together into Dean's crappy frat house shower. Cas moans louder with every thrust of Dean’s fingers, so he crooks them just so, finding that one spot that makes this whole experience perfect, and Cas cries out loudly, clinging onto Dean for dear life.

 

“Ohhh,” Cas groans, his mouth close to Dean’s ear now, “oh, fuck.”

 

Dean doesn’t stop for a second, and he adds a third finger because he doubts Cas will complain, and anyway he can’t stand waiting. Damn, Cas feels tight today, he notes, as he scissors and flexes his fingers inside him, his own cock burning with the desperate desire to push into him properly.

 

Maybe it’s just because it’s been a while. Maybe Dean had forgotten how fucking amazing this feels. He draws back a little, meeting Cas’s lustblown eyes.

 

“You ready, baby?”

 

Cas bites his lip hard, the skin going white. Water cascades down Dean’s back as he draws his fingers out, reaching for the oil again and coating his cock with it, ignoring the bliss that erupts through him from that one simple touch.

 

Dean grabs hold of Cas’s upper thigh, hooking it around his hip. Cas wobbles unsteadily on the slippery floor, but manages to stay standing, and Dean leans him back against the wall.

 

“Jump up, sweetheart.” He tells him, and Cas’s eyes sort of roll backwards, as if he can’t quite comprehend how hot that is. It makes Dean smirk just a little.

 

Cas jumps, and Dean catches hold of his other thigh, moving in fast as he wraps both of Cas’s legs around him. He grins in acknowledgement of how awesome that manoeuvre was, and Cas smiles back knowingly, leaning forwards for a kiss.

 

Dean has hold of Cas’s thigh in one hand, and tries to position himself against Cas’s hole with the other, which takes some doing, but they get there eventually. Cas whimpers as he feels Dean pressed against him, and Dean takes the liberty of rubbing the head of his cock over the sensitive area just a little, until Dean himself can barely stand the sensitivity, until Cas drops his forehead to Dean’s shoulder.

 

He slides in when he can’t take it any longer; there's no other factor involved apart from his own stamina. Cas cries out brokenly, sounding wrecked, and Dean just continues on, feeling Cas stretch around him, every bit as awesome as every other time they’ve done this. He wonders, somewhat deliriously, why they don’t do this every second of every day.

 

Why the fuck were they ever arguing when they could have been doing this?

 

Cas’s hands pull at Dean’s hair, and he clenches around Dean, somewhat unfairly, Dean can’t help but think. He starts to move almost as soon as he’s fully sheathed, the words of encouragement falling from Cas’s lips lost somewhere in between their mouths.

 

Dean notices that, for various reasons, his thrusts are perhaps a little more erratic than usual, and he doesn’t really seem to be as in control as he might be normally. He suspects it’s due to the fact he almost lost Cas not that long ago, and is so desperate for him now that there’s no time for messing around.

 

Regardless, Cas doesn’t seem to be complaining.

 

There isn’t a part of them that isn’t touching, and likewise, there isn’t a part of them that isn’t touched somehow by the trickle of almost burning hot water. Dean thrusts in deep, Cas pinned completely between him and the wall, and Cas just holds on as best he can, hands gripping Dean tightly, moans growing louder with every push of Dean’s hips.

 

“ _Dean,_ ” Cas moans when Dean picks up the pace a little, determined to make Cas come first, and as soon as possible if he can help it. “Yeah, fuck… don’t stop…”

 

Dean wants to laugh at the very idea. Stop? He’s pretty sure Heaven’s holy host couldn’t stop him now. Instead, he changes the angle slightly, bending his knees a little, pushing Cas a little further up the wall.

 

It’s worth the extra effort when Cas practically screams – shower or not, he’s pretty sure that would have been audible downstairs – so Dean keeps at it, aiming for his prostate each time, listening to the chants of his name that echo from Cas’s lips.

 

“Unnngh, Dean…” Castiel calls out, eyes glazed and mouth slack. He’s soaked of course, but that just makes him even more beautiful somehow, the bastard. Dean stares in awe at this sublime creature he gets to have so completely. He can't fathom anything hotter than this now, just fucking Cas until he's incoherent, until he's a complete mess, watching his gorgeous features unravel as he drawls out Dean's name. Castiel, oblivious to Dean's thoughts, collects the droplets of shower water on his lips with his tongue. “Oh, I’m gonna come…”

 

“Yeah?” Asks Dean, kissing him filthily, wanting to taste those water droplets for himself. His thrusts slow a little and his hand finds Cas’s cock, starting to stroke it gently, in time with the gentle, rhythmic pumping of his hips. “You gonna look at me when you come, baby?”

 

Castiel whines, nodding. “Yes. Whatever you want.”

 

“That’s what I want.” Dean clarifies, not letting Cas avert his eyes. “You miss this, baby?”

 

Castiel chokes out a soft sob. “Yes. So much.”

 

Dean fucks him a little harder then, reminding him how good this feels. He’s close too, he can feel it building, but he needs Cas to get there first, needs to watch him fall apart, to let go of all the pain he’s still holding on to.

 

“Me too.” Dean says. “I’ll be here as long as you want me, Cas.” He jerks Cas in his fist, watching the flutter of his lashes, the rivulets of shower water trickling over his cheekbones. “I love you so fucking much.”

 

Cas sobs again, and then comes, hard, the force of it wracking his body with spasms as he clings to Dean, near-helpless. Dean fucks him through it, still pinning him there in case he hurts himself. He feels Cas clenching around him and screws his eyes shut, wanting to put it off just that little bit longer, delay his own release until he’s sure Cas is-

 

“ _Dean,_ ” Cas pants into his shoulder, “come, Dean. Please, I want to feel it.”

 

And well, Dean would have to have a will of steel for that not to work; he comes almost immediately, shooting his load inside of Cas, groaning through the sharp, intense pleasure of it, biting at Cas’s neck. He feels his release slipping out of Cas, trickling down the backs of his thighs, washed away by the shower water as Cas's eyelashes flutter. 

 

When Dean reorientates himself, Cas is slumped against him, and he carefully releases his hold on Cas’s thighs, letting him stand once more. Cas seems barely able to hold himself upright, so Dean helps, hooking an arm around his waist in case he topples over. For a moment, he holds Cas to him, chest to chest, both of them just content with each other under the warm spray.

 

He presses a soft kiss to the top of Cas’s head.

 

“I love you too.” Cas mumbles against him, his fingers splaying over Dean’s tattoo.

 

Dean chuckles weakly. “That’s prob’ly good.”

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow they manage to make it back to Dean’s room unnoticed, which is surely some kind of miracle occurrence, considering the party still raging on downstairs.

 

They dry each other off with big, warm towels, kissing every two seconds as though they can’t help it. Dean wraps a towel around both of them at one point and they end up sort of leant on the bed, making out for who knows how long, though they’re both dry by the end of it.

 

It’s all sickeningly cute, really, but Dean can’t bring himself to care. He has Cas back. He’s been drafted. He has _Cas_ back.

 

Eventually they half-heartedly pull on clothes – Cas settling for some of Dean’s because all his are back in his dorm room – and they stumble out of the bedroom to face the music, quite literally, Dean thinks as he winces at the Bruno Mars track playing throughout the house. Dean tangles their hands together as they walk downstairs. He can’t stop smiling.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hurry up with the popcorn, nerd!” Gabriel yells from the other room, and Cas rolls his eyes. He wonders if Gabe has turned on the blacklight in his room yet. He really hopes there’s someone else in the room with him when that happens. He really hopes it's a girl.

 

The microwave beeps and Castiel gets the bag out, pouring the popcorn into two bowls. He doesn’t notice the soft sound of footsteps creeping behind him, and so yelps a little in surprise when two arms wrap around his waist, a chin tucking into his shoulder.

 

“Smells good.” Dean says, reaching out to grab a popcorn kernel and deposit it in his mouth.

 

“It’s for the _movie._ ” Cas complains, though both of them are well aware he's not annoyed at all.

 

“I wasn’t talkin’ about the popcorn.” Dean whispers, smirking, and Cas blushes.

 

He turns in Dean’s arms, raising an eyebrow. He opens his mouth to respond, but Dean deposits two popcorn kernels in it before he can get the words out.

 

Castiel smiles, chewing slowly, watching Dean’s gaze rake over him. Dean looks even more beautiful than usual today. He looks lit up from within, somehow. Like all his troubles have been airlifted away. Castiel can’t help but smile wider, knowing the cause.

 

“Can I stay over?” Cas asks, blinking up at Dean shyly, feigning innocence, and Dean laughs.

 

“Aw man, not sure about that.” He says, scooping up some more popcorn. “Let’s see how good you are durin’ the film, huh? Then we’ll talk.”

 

Cas pouts but nods, starting to turn away. Dean grabs hold of his shoulders before he manages, spinning him around and pinning his hips to the counter. Dean’s lips are upon him before Cas can even make sense of what’s happening, but he just goes with it, melting into Dean’s kisses readily, happily, just like always.

 

“I said hurry, not make out with Winchester!” Gabriel calls again, his weird ability to know exactly what's happening where at all times rearing its head again. Cas sighs, breaking free of Dean’s tantalising lips.

 

“Come on.” Cas whispers. “You’ve got a Spring Rush event to host, Alpha.”

 

Dean groans, but does as told, following after Cas, each of them picking up one of the bowls of popcorn. The living area is covered in couches, beanbags, old chairs, anything they could find to accommodate all of the Freshmen that showed. Dean's brought most of the lamps and neon lights into this room, which gives it a slightly surreal but quite funky glow, while still leaving it dark enough for the film they're planning to put on. The gawky, slightly nervous-looking teenagers on each of the beanbags and chairs watch Castiel and Dean enter with a kind of awe-struck expression, which only a few of them bother to hide.

 

Dean just grins at them all, adding the two bowls of popcorn to the already circling few and telling them to pass it round. Dean then goes and takes his place back on the couch beside Sam, who is sat beside Gabe, of course.

 

There are other Psi Delta Alpha boys around too, sprawled on the floor or wherever they can fit, and Dean presses play on the remote to start the film.

 

Castiel surveys the room for a moment, marvelling at how familial and homely it all seems. An innocent movie-night to counter the raging all-day party that the frat had accidentally hosted the previous day. Everyone’s feeling a little fragile, so they’d decided to make the next Spring Rush event kind of a chilled one. Surprisingly, everyone seemed to like the idea. Loads of maybe-Pledges have turned up.

 

Dean looks over at him, confused. He pats his knee, and Cas smiles, having been lost in thought. He walks to Dean in the full knowledge that everyone in the room is staring, and climbs onto his lap, not bothering to hide the ludicrous happiness in his expression.

 

“I like this.” Cas whispers.

 

“Shhhh!” Gabriel says in an exaggerated whisper. Castiel leans over Sam to smack his brother in the head. “Ow!”

 

Dean smiles up at him, amused. “Me too. Wanna do this kinda lame shit for the foreseeable future?”

 

Castiel chuckles quietly. “Sure.”

 

He leans in to kiss Dean then, not giving it a second thought when it starts to deepen, when lips twine with tongues, when hands slide into hair. Then there’s a cough from their side. Cas breaks away, confused, and realises that Sam is sat right beside them, bright red and staring resolutely at the screen. Oops, he thinks, giving Dean a look of warning, because there’s no way he didn’t realise either.

 

“Sorry, Sam.” Castiel whispers, feeling guilty. He settles back in Dean’s lap to watch the film, pretending he can’t feel Dean laughing.

 

“It’s fine.” Sam says, sounding tense. “I’m, um, glad you guys… worked things out.”

 

“Oh, I worked him out alright.” Dean quips, sounding way too pleased with himself, and Sam makes a disgusted groaning noise.

 

The younger Winchester reaches behind himself to grab the pillow he’s leant against and promptly whacks Dean round the head with it. Castiel ducks out of its path just in time. “That’s friggin’ gross, Dean!”

 

By now, all heads have turned their way, the film momentarily forgotten, and Cas buries his face in his hands.

 

“You started it!” Accuses Dean, and Sam whacks him with the pillow again.

 

“Enough!” Gabriel cries, grabbing Sam in a headlock. “I refuse to let all of our Novak-Winchester family get-togethers descend into this anarchic brother-bashing.”

 

Gabriel leans back in his seat, Sam awkwardly trapped under his arm. “Um,” Sam starts, “what are you talking about, Gabe?”

 

Cas’s heart has also stopped, hoping to Hell Gabriel isn’t saying what he thinks he’s saying. God, his brother needs a goddamned muzzle. As if he needs another reason for Dean to freak out about the future and try to escape again. 

 

Gabriel looks at Sam, Castiel and Dean in turn, probably getting the same incredulous face mirrored back to him each time. “Oh, come on. What about at Cas and Dean's wedding?”

 

Castiel's mouth falls open, and his gaze turns ferocious. He's about to punch Gabriel, when the dickhead starts laughing. "Kidding! Jeez. No need to look so terrified, guys." Castiel resolutely does not turn to see the expression Dean is wearing. That would be troublesome for the relationship, he's sure. “No, I _meant_  like when we go on double dates and stuff.”

 

Sam’s eyes widen. He stares at Dean in horror. “Gabe,” he says slowly, as though worried he might accidentally say the wrong thing, “we’re not dating.”

 

Gabriel shrugs, making Sam’s head bob up and down. “Not yet.”

 

Castiel can’t hold in his splutter. “You’re determined Gabe, I’ll give you that.”

 

“We’re not dating!” Sam cries again, sounding horrified.

 

“I dunno, Sammy…” Dean chips in, shrugging. Castiel smirks at the sound of Dean's teasing tone. “Didn’t you used to Skype and text him every day? That seems a little excessive for ‘just friends’.”

 

“Dean! Shut the Hell up!" Sam cries. "I thought you hated Gabriel! Why are you encouraging him?” 

 

By now, everyone is happily watching the Novak/Winchester theatrics, munching their popcorn. Those poor soon-to-be Pledges.

 

“Oh, it’s not _hatred._ ” Gabriel says, almost cooing into Sam’s hair. “Dean and I just bicker a lot. It’s a close-quarters thing. Plus, y'know, we’re very similar.”

 

Castiel splutters again, ignoring Gabriel’s glare.

 

“Gabriel.” Sam says, trying to be calm and rational about this. “You’re awesome. Truly. But I like _girls._ ”

 

Gabriel laughs, pulling Sam in closer. Sam doesn’t even bother resisting, this time. “Sure you do, kiddo.” He laughs again. “Wait till you get to college, huh?”

 

"Gabriel, drop it." Sam warns, scowling a little. "When I get to college, you are the last person I will be considering to date."

 

Castiel has to bury his face in Dean’s shoulder to hide his laughter, whereas Dean doesn’t bother, just outright spluttering at the hilarity of it all. Really, Cas thinks, it's absurd even entertaining the notion of Gabe and Sam together. How would that even work? Cas is surprised Gabriel has the energy to keep trying. 

 

"It's probably just as well." Gabriel says, shrugging, sounding mock-defeated. "Dorky little good-boys like you would be terrible in bed." 

 

"Dude!" Dean cries, sounding horrified. 

 

Sam doesn’t seem to have a response after that, probably stunned to silence, so they all turn reluctantly back to the film, occasionally still giggling at the notion of Sam and Gabriel ever being a thing.

 

A few minutes pass, the silence only broken by the occasional crunch of popcorn.

 

“That’s not what you said the other night.” Sam says conversationally, only just audible.

 

Castiel feels Dean freeze, hears him choke on the popcorn he's eating. He locks eyes with Gabriel, who suddenly appears fucking terrified. Oh, God. 

 

“Dean,” he says, palms up, arms outstretched, “it was a one-time thing… we were kinda drunk... Sam was cool with it-”

 

“Oh, you’re fucking _dead!_ ” Dean cries, and Cas knows instinctively to clamber off him before he lunges, though Gabriel somehow reacts faster, jumping off the couch and hurtling out of the room. “I’ll find you, you bastard!”

 

Dean sprints after him, and Castiel just watches them go, mouth agape. He turns back to Sam once they’ve gone, eyebrows shot so far up his forehead they may as well join his hairline

 

“Seriously, Sam?” Castiel asks, mind running a mile a minute with this new information. “You seriously slept with Gabriel?”

 

Sam shrugs, turning back to the TV. “Hey, tit for tat, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed, haha. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you earlier that it would have a happy ending, I don't generally like things unless they have happy resolutions. Plus... it's these two, y'know? They'll always find a way. 
> 
> Except maybe in canon BUT ANYWAY. 
> 
> Also, how weird is this (I swear I found this article AFTER I wrote about the Kappa Sigma's losing their charter)... http://oldgoldandblack.com/?p=37547 
> 
> Weird. 
> 
> Maybe they're real...
> 
> ANYWAY. Thank you so so much for reading and commenting and keeping me going. I love you all to pieces, I hope the ending was everything you wanted and that I didn't leave anything hanging. Except Sam/Gabe haah... but I kinda was always gonna do that ;) 
> 
> xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


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